Susan of Narnia
by girlontheindex
Summary: The day Susan was told that she could never return to the one place she felt accepted was the day everything changed. She became unrecognisable. Slowly she forgot everything about Narnia, including a particular King. Convinced herself she was happier with her new life. Then one day she arrives back in Narnia, and is faced with a threat bigger than she could have ever imagined.
1. The Great Pretender

**A.N: So this story has been bubbling under the surface for a while now, and I've only just gotten it down on paper now. Please, let me know what you think, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Also, there's a playlist I made to go with the story, you can find the song titles before the chapters. Thanks!**

 **Chapter One**

 **The Great Pretender - The Platters**

August 27th, 1942

Southport, North Carolina, U.S.A.

The sun kissed Susan's skin, rays dancing across her face. A pair of clear transparent-framed sunglasses were perched on her nose, and a smile played on her lips. Her legs dangled off the edge of a pier, her pale yellow skirts spread out across the wooden boards. She had hoisted them up to her knees, scandalously, as to allow her legs to bathe in the sunlight too.

Susan couldn't remember the last time she had felt so at peace.

The last few months had been turbulent, to say the least. In February she had to drop out of school due to poor performance. Once upon a time, Susan would have been mortified. The suggestion she wasn't clever enough to stay on at school would have felt like a slap to the face, an insult to her capability. Instead, she had felt only numb. She had been ushered from the school gates into a taxi to the train station, girls staring at her from the windows, and yet it had all felt like something out of a dream. As though it were happening to somebody else, and Susan was merely a spectator. Driving away from her education, she thought nothing about her future, or what it would mean, but instead about her parents. About how ashamed they would be of her, of how disappointed. They'd saved for years so that her and her siblings could attend a distinguished boarding school, her mother working three jobs so that send Lucy and Edmund wouldn't miss out. What would they think of her, wasting her opportunity like that?

Turns out, they were only concerned with Susan's wellbeing. Knowing her better than anybody else in the world - well, besides her siblings - they suspected Susan wouldn't allow her schoolwork to fall behind unless she really wasn't well. They'd taken her to the doctors in Finchley the second she returned home, and after countless tests that had, at the time, felt unnecessary, the doctor decided that Susan was suffering from severe depression and stress. He prescribed her rest, and a healthy diet, and sent them on her way.

Gordon and Helen Pevensie were distraught that they had missed the signs. Felt as though they had failed their daughter. Susan, however, believed it was her who had let her parents down, and withdrew further into herself. Rarely retreating out of her room, Susan became almost a shell of herself. Then, in the July, Peter returned home from army training, a fully qualified soldier. Newly appointed Private Peter Pevensie was the pride and joy of their household. No longer a boy, Peter was eager to join the fight abroad. However his mother wasn't as keen. Sergeant Gordon Pevensie ensured that his son had a few months off duty, as to accompany him to America. Later that month, Susan, Peter, Helen and Gordon boarded a boat to America.

At first the warm weather, and luscious greens were just a reminder of the source of all Susan's troubles. Helen believed the change of scenery to be good for Susan, the lack of air raid sirens and bombings to be just the thing she needed. The more and more her mother told Susan that Southport was necessary to her 'recovery', the more Susan believed it.

And sitting out on the pier in the baking July heat, basking in the sun, Susan could hardly disagree.

Her brother, Peter, sat beside her. His white shirt sleeves were rolled up, and his beige slacks were itching further and further up his legs. His honey blonde hair was uncharacteristically untidy, and a pair of sunglasses were balanced on his nose. Turning his head to the side, he glanced at Susan, and grinned.

"Think we could get used to it, Su?"

Susan didn't move, except to smile back. "Oh I don't know Pete, don't you think the view would grow old?"

Peter leant forward so that the sunglasses slid down his nose slightly, and peered out at the sight in front of him. Crystal, sparkling waters as far as the eye could see, waves lapping gently onto silky smooth sand. A picturesque town stood in the distance, as though it were taken from a postcard from paradise.

"Certainly beats the cobbled streets of Finchley," Peter sighed, as he struggled to take it all in. "I can't remember the last time we even visited the beach. Well, I mean I can, but we weren't in Finchley, were we?"

Sitting up, Susan took her sunglasses off and folded them in her lap, and swallowed as if anxious about something. "Don't," she muttered, her jaw tight.

"It's alright to talk about it, Su, really I think it would help - "

"Sorry, I forgot you were a doctor," Susan snapped, though immediately calmed. It was not in her nature to be cruel. "I . . . I just can't even bring myself to think about . . . _that place_ anymore Peter. Not yet, anyway."

Nodding, Peter understood that he had clearly hit a raw nerve. He didn't quite understand Susan's sudden hostile attitude toward Narnia, though pretended he does, so that she didn't fear he was judging her.

Suddenly, a few men on the opposite pier, fishing rods and buckets at their feet, spotted Susan, and her bare legs. The started to whistle, piercing sounds that attract all sorts of attention, most of all Susan. After some obscene gestures, Susan got to her feet, rolling her eyes. She turned her back to them, after promising Peter that she's not offended, and he doesn't need to go after them. Shifting uncomfortably, he joined his sister leaning on the railing, blood boiling.

"How can you stand it?" he finally says, when the calls have subsided. His knuckles were white.

Susan shrugged. "Ignore it, I suppose," she replied, then grinned, almost mischievously. "Though there was this one time, when I was waiting for a bus. This boy wouldn't leave me alone - quite persistent actually, not taking any of my hints and making wild suggestions. Nobody was around, so I . . . well, I punched him, didn't I? Broke his nose! The bus arrived a minute or two later, and the driver didn't believe the boy that I could inflict such a wound on a boy his size!"

Stunned, Peter stared in awe of his sister. Sometimes he wasn't sure who he was looking at; the bright, pretty schoolgirl from Finchley, or the warrior Queen she was - she had been. Sometimes the two figures blended into one, such as during the telling of the story of the boy at the bus stop.

"You've always turned heads, Su, now and when you were thirteen years older," Peter sighed, shaking his head. "You must have expected similar attention after returning back from . . . well, you know where. The amount of suitors you left trailing in your wake, mother would have a heart attack."

Frowning, Susan turned sharply to face her brother. "I'm not interested in turning men's heads, thank you very much. I've told you, I don't enjoy the attention."

Rather stupidly, Peter snorted. "You didn't seem to mind Caspian's attention," he pointed out, insensitively. Slapping him in the arm, Susan was too shocked to do anything else. She slapped him again, though admittedly not as rough. To her surprise, Peter starts to chuckle, apologising. "I'm sorry . . . hey, I'm sorry! That was unkind of me."

Pursing her lips, the comment still washing over her, Susan looked Peter in the eyes and saw that he truly did mean it. Softening, she folded her arms. "I've half mind to go and find Petunia Fennell, and invite her to the British Consul's Tea Party on behalf of you."

Petunia Fennell was a well-meaning, sweet girl, who had an unfortunately shrill voice and very large front teeth, who had set her sights on Peter. Her mother was one of Helen Pevensie's new American friends, and was just as keen to set her daughter up with a handsome English soldier as Petunia was to marry one.

Peter went white as a sheet. "Please, Su, you wouldn't."

"I'm not sure, Pete, I think she would make a very lovely bride in Finchley, don't you?" Susan teased, starting to walk down the pier, her white shoes in her hands, swinging by her side. "She'd be over the moon you've asked her."

Following behind, Peter wasn't quite sure if his sister was joking or not. "You won't, will you? Susan, you wouldn't dare."

Bursting into laughter at the sight of Peter's pale complexion and furrowed brow, Susan steadied herself on his arm, clutching her stomach. "You should . . . see your . . . face!" she gasped, through fits of laughter. Breathing a sigh of relief, Peter nudged Susan slightly.

"Don't do that to me!" he cried.

Still chuckling, Susan pushed Peter back, knocking him sideways. Peter grinned, and pushed his sister back, though clearly not aware of his own strength. Susan was sent flying a few feet, into the arms of a stranger, who luckily caught her. Immediately full of apologies, Susan turned around, still being held onto. Who she came face to face with, however, left her speechless.

The man, for it was indeed a man, had raven black hair, slicked back, with eyes that were a swirling, hypnotic mixture of emerald and hazel, and they daren't look away from Susan for a second, as though entranced. Clean-shaven, he smelt of the sea air, and it was incredibly enticing. His dark eyebrows were arched, and his coral-coloured lips were parted slightly. Clad in a white shirt, his sleeves were rolled up, displaying his impressive arms. His hands were clasped on her back, tightly, and Susan was shocked at how natural it felt to be held by a complete unknown.

The stranger's gaze was intense, their eyes locking, neither able to look away. Both Peter, and the friends that had accompanied the man onto the pier faded into the background, and it felt as though they were the only two bodies on the pier. "Are you alright, miss?" he asked, his accent a syrupy, American drawl, contrasting completely with Susan's crisp English accent.

"Never better," was all Susan could think to say, unmoving, unblinking.

The man laughed, and so did Susan, finding it infectious, and then realised the awkward yet oddly comfortable position she was in - leaning back, relying completely on his strength not to drop her. Her laugh turning into an untimely cough, she straightened herself out, smoothening her dress down and tucking her hair behind her ears. Abruptly, Susan noticed that her hands were now suddenly empty, and that her feet were still bare. Gasping, she looks around, hoping the shoes will have just dropped by her side, but the pier is empty.

"Um, you come here," Peter called, leaning over the railing. "Down there."

Running to her brother's side, she spots the pearly heels floating in the ocean, bobbing up and down. Groaning, she hits Peter in the shoulder, this time a little more forcefully.

"No need for that! Listen, I'll go and get them," Peter begins, taking off his own shoes to make a point, when the handsome stranger appears beside them, glancing into the water. Then, without a moment's hesitation, he tugs off his white shirt, and shimmies out of his trousers, discarding the items to the side, and prepares to jump. Susan is stunned, by both this astonishing gesture, and the man's Grecian-sculpted muscles. A small tinge of rose appeared on her cheeks, and she was torn between looking away and keeping her eyes glued to his torso.

A second later, he's dived in. Rather expertly too, Susan mentally notes. Her and Peter, were stood frozen for a while, the stranger's friends muttering between themselves. Then, as he surfaces, he holds the shoes high above his head, triumphantly. His friends begin to whoop and cheer, and even Susan awards the man a small round of applause, and a smile she couldn't seem to shake.

They met the man on the shore, Susan holding out his shirt. Her skirts were blowing gently in the wind, and her mahogany coloured hair framing her face. She found she was unable to tear her eyes away from his figure, as he departed the sea. His hair had fallen in his face, and so he swept a hand through the sopping locks. The water that dripped from his body cast a glistening sheen that reflected the sunlight, giving him the illusion he was glowing.

Grinning, he approached Susan, the shoes in hand. "I believe these are yours?" he asked, gallantly.

Not quite sure where to look, Susan instead directed her focus to the pile of clothes in her hands, and held them out for the stranger. "I'll trade you?"

Whilst he changed back into his clothes, Susan looked over her shoulder, shoes now back by her side, only to see Peter scowling. His arms were folded, and his brow was creased. Susan could tell he was disapproving of the whole situation. Rolling her eyes, she instead turned around to see the stranger's two friends gazing rather intently at her, muttering under their breaths. When they saw that Susan had caught them, they immediately ceased, and pretend to be distracted by something behind her.

"Perhaps the custom is different over here, but where I'm from talking about people behind their backs is considered to be bad mannered," she says, matter-of-factly. The two young men shuffle awkwardly on their feet, unable to meet Susan's eyes.

"I apologise for my friends, they find it difficult to talk to pretty girls," the stranger spoke, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Susan swivelled around immediately, finding the man fully dressed once more, though still soaking. He grinned at Susan, and she couldn't help but think about just how handsome he was, especially when he smiled. She was so dazzled by his appearance, that she almost forgot what he had said. Feeling the heat rise once more to her cheeks, she hoped he would assume it was merely an unfortunate side effect of the sunshine. Subconsciously, she raised a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"That stunt was rather thrilling, all for a pair of shoes," she told him, still fiddling with the rogue lock of chestnut hair. "How can I thank you?"

"You can start by telling me your name?" the man replied, stepping closer to her.

Breath hitching in her throat, she swallowed slightly. "Susan Pevensie," she answered, her voice surprisingly steady, despite her frantic heartbeat, pounding away inside her chest. Why was she so nervous? She spoke to people, men, all the time! Usually she was impervious to their charms, brushing them off like one would a fly. _Men aren't this good-looking back in Finchley though_ , her inner voice pointed out, smugly.

"Pleasure to meet you, Susan Pevensie," the man countered, extending an arm in a courteous manner. "I'm Johnny Coppola. May I be so forward as to ask if I can accompany you on your walk? I'd like to know more about what a girl like you is doing in a place like this."

Slightly taken aback, Susan turned to her brother for assistance, however he was failing, try as he might, to hide his unimpressed facial expression. His arms were crossed, and his nose was crinkled as though he were displeased by the proposal.

"I wouldn't want to intrude, of course," Johnny is quick to add, which Susan thinks is very sweet.

"No, no, Peter is my brother," Susan informed him, reaching out to place hand on the man's arms to reassure him. However, the second they make contact again, the butterflies erupt, and Susan's retracts quickly. "I'd love a walk with you. I'll see you later, Pete."

With that, Susan had begun to walk away, motioning for Johnny to follow. Grinning, he jogs to catch up with her, and shoots his friends a wink. Peter shook his head, and watched the retreating figure of his sister disappear up the beach, accompanied by a man she had met minutes ago. Whether it was the duty Peter felt he had to uphold as big brother, or mere intuition, he did not trust this Johnny Coppola one bit.

\\\\\\\\\

There was something about the warmth of the sun rays on her cheeks, the silkiness of the sand between her toes, the calming lull of the waves reaching the shore, and the presence of Johnny Coppola that made Susan feel at ease. As though the events of the last year had all been a bad dream, or something dreadful she had read in one of her novels.

Glancing over at him, throwing pebbles into the serene sea, watching with childlike innocence as the stones made ripples, joy spreading onto his features, Susan couldn't help but smile herself. He had dried off somewhat now, though his hair did still have a slight sheen to it. She watched the muscles in his back contract with fascination as sent another stone into the watery depths, the definition clear through his shirt.

Johnny turned around, causing Susan to look away immediately, not wanting to be caught staring at him. He holds out a pebble to her, a smile playing on his lips. "Why don't you have a go?" he suggests. "Unless you don't think you can throw farther than me."

Raising her eyebrows, Susan chuckles, and takes the stone from him. Their fingertips brush against each others, sending shivers down her spine. "I'm afraid you're going to be thoroughly disappointed. I happen to be a champion pebble thrower."

Johnny gestures for her to take her chance, chuckling. "I'll believe it when I see it," he teases. He clearly wasn't expecting much, which is why when Susan's stone flies a good four or five feet further than his did, his jaw drops. He then turns back to Susan, and bows low, causing her to giggle. "I must apologise, you truly are the champion."

Amused, Susan starts to walk back along the beach, though was wading up to her ankles in the water. Johnny follows, observing her with great interest.

"So where is it you come from, Susan Pevensie? I'm guessing you're not from around here."

"Perceptive as well as a poor thrower? Girls must be queuing for miles to snap you up," Susan joked, dryly.

"I'm also a very loud snorer," Johnny added, with a mischievous grin. "How is it that I'm still single?"

Laughing, Susan tried to ignore the part of her stomach that began to somersault when she heard the latter statement. "Finchley," she answered. "I doubt you'll have heard of it. It's in London, though. You know London, of course?"

"London? That rings a bell," Johnny remarked, jesting, with a twinkle in his eye. He entered the water too, walking alongside Susan. "I've always wanted to visit London. Are you happy in Finchley?"

Caught off guard by the latter question, Susan was surprised at how sincere he was. Nobody asks you if you're happy anymore, only if you're alright. Alright is not the same as happy. Alright is a blasé answer, apathetic and cloyed, for when one asking is too disinterested to want to know or care. If somebody asks if you're happy, then they care, don't they? They are curious and concerned about your wellbeing.

"I suppose," Susan begins, then realised she didn't have the heart to lie. "Not really. Not at the moment, with everything that's going on. One step outside and you're instantly reminded of the death and destruction that you try so hard to forget. My street is relatively unscathed, but the street next to ours has suffered more than most. Three houses were wiped out within nights of each other. People try to stay positive, keep calm and carry on and all that, but it's difficult when we're all living in constant fear."

Johnny was listening intently, sombrely. "Must be a change staying here, in Southport."

"My mother said, the first day we got off the boat, that it's like something out of a postcard."

"Why did you come here, if you don't mind me asking?" Johnny inquired. Susan didn't mind at all.

"My father is a Captain, in the Army. He was a professor of literature before he was called up. As a favour to an American General he became friendly with in France, he's come over to deliver a lecture on war to a few universities. He brought me and Peter, and our mother, along. Thought we'd like the new scenery."

Of course she wasn't telling him the true reason she was invited, but she didn't feel comfortable enough talking about her troubles with her own family, she wasn't going to bear her scars to a man she had just met. It didn't matter how handsome he was.

"And how are you finding the scenery?" Johnny grins. Susan couldn't help but notice how he was edging closer and closer to her.

"Oh, I've seen better," she teased, though unwelcome images of Narnia flashed through her mind, and a lump formed in her throat. "The people are nice though. You'll never believe what this boy did on the pier earlier just to rescue my shoes."

Johnny chuckled, running a hand through his inky black hair. "I suspect he may fancy you, pulling a dangerous stunt like that when he should have known better."

Susan felt a smile creep up onto her lips, as the butterflies were once again sent into a frenzy. Then, she felt the back of his hand brush hers, knuckles grazing one another's. Looking up at Johnny, she found him already looking down at her, steadily. Their eyes locked, and neither could dare to look away.

\\\\\\\\\

The more time Susan spent listening and talking with Johnny, the more she realised she had missed human interaction. Shut away inside her childhood home in Finchley had perhaps done more harm than good, though Susan suspected she had known that by withdrawing herself from civilisation the problem wasn't going to get fixed. Perhaps, deep down, past the stone walls she had built to protect herself, she wanted that constant pain. It would serve as an excruciatingly painful reminder that it _had all existed_. That the lions, the witches, and the wardrobes hadn't been a childish figment of her imagination. That the people hadn't been imagined, that the friendships and, dare she say it, _relationships_ , hadn't been created out of thin air.

She couldn't bring herself to think _his_ name, let alone say it aloud. Not since the true realisation that she could never return had dawned on her. It was all poetic, and romantic, leaving the way they did, announcing it to the shock of the crowd. _That_ kiss had been a statement for sure, a way to ensure that he would never forget her, that the people wouldn't forget.

Then one night it struck Susan that he could forget her, that in the blink of an eye a hundred years could have passed, and there'd be nobody to remember the kiss. He was a King now, wasn't he? He had a duty to his subjects. Narnia would need a new ruler when he passes. That would mean he'd require a Queen. Susan was a good judge of character, she knew him better than he perhaps knew himself. He wouldn't marry for _duty,_ he'd marry for love. And that would mean forgetting her.

Susan knew that. It hurt, so much, but she knew. So why couldn't she forget him? Couldn't forget the curve of his lips, or the lilt in his voice, or the eclipse in his eyes. He was everything she could have sought after in a man; loyal, courageous, intelligent, and kind. No other compared to him, not before and not after.

Well, no one had until Johnny.

Susan had known him less than three hours, and yet she could feel herself healing. Listening to him talk about his family, she found herself slipping away from the trauma of the last year, and finally focusing on the present. Focusing on Johnny, and the way his soft, peach coloured lips would form around the words, words that sounded idyllic in his melodious yet staunch accent.

"I can't remember them, my parents. Not really. I was too young to really have any memories of them. Things people tell me about them, though, makes me wish I had some recollection of them," he explained, thoughtfully. "For instance, my dad was this cabbie, in New York. He was this six foot something guy from Brooklyn, with a wide jaw and boxer's hands. The last thing you'd want to do if you got into his cab was to then tell him you didn't have enough money to pay for the ride. But it was during the time of the Great Depression, and nobody had money. Dad used to give people rides, anybody, and when they told him they couldn't pay up, he'd ask that they show him a trick. People sung for him, people performed magic, some were pretty talentless but dad didn't care. He was all for chances, and spreading happiness. I'd like to say that I'm the same."

Susan smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The sun was beginning to dim in the distance, so her beloved sunglasses had been placed upon her head. Her shoes were back on her feet, as they walked through town.

"And your mum, what was she like?" she asked, sweetly, brimming with curiosity.

"Oh, everybody tells me she was the most beautiful woman in New York. Jet black hair, always wore cherry red lips, cheekbones up to her ears. Never seen without a smile, people say. Her family came over from Italy in the 1890's, escaping poverty. She was an actress, or tried to be. Even had a role on Broadway a few times. Not name-in-lights kind of deal, but made her recognisable to some," Johnny beamed. He then turned to Susan, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "My uncle told me once, when he took me to the pictures to watch _Gone With the Wind_ , that my parents were the spit image of Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh. Could you imagine!"

"Is that who raised you, your uncle?" Susan inquired.

Johnny nodded. "Brought me up in Brooklyn. He's my dad's brother. Fought in the Great War when he was seventeen. Stepped on a landmine at Armentières. Wounded him pretty badly, lost a leg and his hearing. Shrapnel littered his body, some of it's still in there. He never married, which is a shame. I'd love to see him happy. God knows he deserves it."

Reaching out, tentatively, Susan placed a hand delicately on his forearm. She squeezed, gently, hoping that it would give him some comfort. From the smile that he shot her, she assumed it did. "I feel awful, complaining about my family," she sighed.

Chuckling, despite the subject matter, Johnny shook his head. "No, no, I get it. If I had three siblings, I think I'd find a cause to complain."

They continued walking together, down a road that led to a row of holiday homes. With a heavy heart, Susan realised that she'd have to depart soon, knowing that one of the houses was hers. As they neared the familiar weatherboarded house, figures moving behind the curtains, and walked up the pathway to the door, Susan was struggling to think of a way to say goodbye. She didn't want to leave Johnny, didn't want their friendship to end there.

It appeared that Johnny felt the same.

"Listen, I'm staying with some friends at the moment, but I leave to go back to New York soon. I don't want to go though, without . . . well," Johnny tried to say, slipping and tripping over his words. "Without exploring this further, if that makes sense."

Susan let a small 'oh' escape her lips, causing Johnny's head to fall. Not wanting him to assume she was dismissing him, she stood in front of him, placing a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. "It makes perfect sense," she told him, a smile playing on her lips. "I think that it would be a shame if we were to leave each other without wondering . . . what if?"

Unable to stop the spread of a grin on his face, Johnny placed a hand over Susan's, and squeezed. "Brilliant," he exclaims. "In that case, I was wondering - "

Suddenly, the front door swung open, causing the pair to wrench apart, and Susan was mortified to see her father, her mother, and of course Peter, all stood in the doorway, surveying the scene like hawks. Her father had clearly just got in from a lecture, still dressed in his sharp suit, looking both impressive and intimidating. Her mother, meanwhile, was wearing her favourite apron, though admittedly it was stained with splotches of flour and egg yolk - the enticing scent of freshly baked Victoria sponge came wafting out. Peter stood behind their mother, arms crossed and lips pursed. Obviously his opinion on the situation hadn't changed since earlier. Susan resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Is this the young man who jumped in to fetch your shoes?" her father blurted out, in a rather monotonous tone, eyes narrowed slightly.

"Yes, it is," Susan answered, boldly, refusing to let him threaten her the only way a father can; through stern looks.

Her mother squealed, despite herself, and flashed a toothy grin. "How wonderful! How brave!" she cried, to the dismay of her husband beside her.

"If you don't mind, Johnny was just going to ask me something," Susan sighed, and turned her attention back to American. "You were saying?"

Shuffling on his feet slightly, Johnny's eyes flitted from the onlookers in the doorway, to the girl in front of him. "Just pretend they're not here," Susan whispered, with an encouraging smile. It seemed to work, as Johnny smiles back.

"I was wondering if, well if you'd like to attend the British Consul's Tea Party with me?" he managed, stumbling only once.

Surprised at the invitation, and how formal the occasion was - she had expected another few walks on the beach before they were to attend such a noteworthy social gathering such as the British Consul's Tea party. However, Susan couldn't ignore the butterflies that were sent in a frenzy once more, and nodded. "I'd love to," she replied, glowing.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Johnny flashed her a grin. "That's great!" he exclaimed, and reached out and held her hands. "I'll come and pick you up? I can't wait." He kissed her hand, and Susan couldn't help but be reminded of a time in her life where a greeting like that would have been more customary than shaking somebody's hand.

"Well, until then," she says, feeling the heat creep up her cheeks again. The peck on her knuckles, small though it was, sent shivers up her body. "Goodbye, Johnny."

"See you soon, Susan."

And with that, Johnny walks back down the pathway, off home. Turning to step inside the house, a smile dancing on her lips, Susan was reminded of her audience. Groaning, she suddenly wished she was back on the beach, throwing pebbles into the waves with Johnny.

/

That evening, Susan sat at the desk in their living room. Her parents were sat outside, making the most of the evening sun, lounging on deck chairs. They were holding hands, their eyes closed, letting the warmth wash over them. Susan smiled.

Looking down, she sighs, signing her letter with an 'x'. She wasn't sure when the letter would reach Lucy and Edmund, not when she considered the boat journey from America to London, and she wondered if it would even reach them, due to the U-boat attacks that have been occurring more frequently recently. She hoped it did, for she didn't want Lucy and Edmund to feel left out or forgotten. She knew that they were a little bitter about being left in England whilst the four of them sailed off to North Carolina, so Susan tried her best to ensure that they knew they weren't out of her thoughts.

Glancing at the framed picture of her and her siblings at a train station last year, she smiles slightly, remembering how simple things had been before their second trip to Narnia. Placing the pen down, she seals the envelope. Reaching for a stamp, the door swings open, and Peter appeared. He hadn't spoken much to her since Johnny walked her home, choosing to ignore her at dinner. Her parents hadn't noticed though; their mother talked enough for everybody. She had been so excited to see Susan talking to somebody else for a change, much less a handsome American. Her father, however, wasn't as pleased. He didn't think that Susan Should be concerning herself with boys at seventeen, and in her 'fragile condition' he had put so _insensitively_.

It seemed Peter and he shared this opinion. "I don't think you should go to that party with him."

Susan rolled her eyes. "Well, I don't think that you should have enlisted, but you didn't listen to me, did you?"

"That was different, at least I know what I'm signing up for. You don't even know this Johnny, not really."

Susan shot out of her chair, eyes wide. "You have no idea what you're signing up for, Peter! A couple of battles in Narnia, and you think you're ready for war here! Missiles and rifles are _completely_ different to to horses and swords."

"I'm eighteen, it's about time I joined the war!" Peter countered, his body tense.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure the Germans will appreciate the target practice," Susan bit back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted them immediately, and took a deep breath. "Johnny is a good man, alright. Not many men would have jumped off that pier for a pair of silly shoes."

"Caspian would have," Peter blurted out. "Five seconds with your new American, and you've forgotten him already?"

That felt like a slap to the face for Susan. Stepping backwards, her heart began hammering in her chest. Once again, Peter realised his mistake too soon, and tried to approach Susan. She wouldn't allow him to touch her, her limbs going numb. His words rang in her ear, drowning out his overdue apologies.

"Please, go," Susan whispered, as she backed into a wall. Peter ignored her, trying once more too reach out to her, but she pushed him away. "I said go, Peter!"

Knowing that any attempts at a reconciliation were futile, Peter hung his head and left swiftly. Lingering in the doorway, he turned around to face Susan, only to see a trickle of tears fall down Susan's face. "Su - "

He didn't finish, for Susan flew at the door and slammed it in his face. Now truly alone, Susan let the sobs escape freely. Sliding down the wooden panelled door, her legs giving way, she fell to the floor in a heap. Holding her head in her hands, she clutched at her her in fists. Everything she hadn't let herself feel over the last year was suddenly all hitting her at once, and she couldn't bear it.

Just when she was starting to feel more positive, Peter goes and ruins it all. He spoke her worst fear out loud; forgetting. He accused her of forgetting _him_ , of forgetting the man she had fallen so irrevocably in love with. The man she could never see again, hold again, hear again, kiss again.

Without meaning to, Susan called out for him, _for Caspian_.


	2. A Bad Night

**A.N: I'm glad people are enjoying the story so far! Please, leave a review and tell me what you think!**

 **Chapter Two**

 **A Bad Night - Danny Bensi and Saunder Jurriaans.**

August 27th, 2306

Eastern Ocean, Narnia.

 _There could never be anyone like Susan the Gentle. Caspian recognised the ink coloured hair, curls framing her pretty, porcelain face. Lips like rubies curved into an elegant smile, and eyes like crystals sparkled in the sunlight. A gown that was the colour of honey hung off her dainty frame, toes only just noticeable under the hem._

 _A stretch of sand was all that was between her and Caspian. The azure waters kissed the shoreline, and the sun rays glistened off of the shimmering waves. Just a few meters, that's all. She just had to take a few more steps, and he'd be able to tuck her hair behind her ears, and hold her hand, and kiss her lips._

And then he woke up.

Sweat dripping down his forehead, and drenching the sheets, he shot up immediately. Eyes wide, and panting, his fists were clenched and his knuckles white. Looking around at his surroundings, Caspian realised he was back to reality. Rubbing his eyes, he swung his legs over the bed, and stood up. Sleep had eluded Caspian for the last eleven months. Nothing had helped; no potions, no powders, no pills. Tonight was just like all the other nights; a few mere hours of slumber, the same vision of _her_ walking down the beach, with Caspian waking up before she can reach him.

Running a hand through his sopping locks, Caspian paced around his cabin. The candle on the bedside table was flickering, and the water in his cup swaying with the motions of the ship. He had fled to sea two months after the Pevensie siblings had left. Under the pretence that the new King needed to explore his country and it's isles, Caspian gathered a crew and embarked on a trip that he hoped would fill the gap left by _her_.

It didn't.

Glancing around the cabin, Caspian caught sight of himself in the small mirror he had propped up on the wall. Face as white as a sheet, his dark locks a stark contrast, he was appalled at the sight of himself. His eyes were sullen, and his cheekbones were more prominent than ever. Sighing, he turned his back to the shell he'd become, and instead found himself facing the painted portrait of the Kings and Queens of Old. That didn't make him feel any better.

Unable to tear his eyes away from the portrait, he brushed his fingers across the drawing of _her_. It had been painted during the Golden Age. Her hair was down to her ankles, and a bow was slung around her torso. Caspian couldn't help but think about how the artist had gotten the shape of her nose all wrong, and how her eyebrows were too arched, and how the colour of her eyes was a shade too dark.

Overcome by anger, at whoever decided that Peter and her couldn't come back, he lashed out and punched the wall. He resented his own thoughts. He resented the way that he couldn't control his rage. He resented the idea that he couldn't ever see her again. He resented the fact it had been eleven months and he hadn't figured out a way to move on from his feelings for her. He resented his own resentment.

Not for the first time that month, he approached the shelf that displayed her horn. Reaching out to run his fingertips along the ivory, he tried to resist the urge. Oh, did he try. He picked up the horn, and brought it to his lips. Hand trembling, he screwed his eyes shut. Glimpses of her face flashed on the backs of his eyelids, and so he dropped the horn back onto the shelf. He couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to blow the horn.

Feeling as though the walls were closing in on him, Caspian rushed over to the door, desperate for fresh air.

The wind on deck was soothing, in a way. The sweat that was sticking his shirt to his back was immediately dried, and he felt as though he could breath again. His heart was beating beating irrationally in his chest, and he felt somewhat dizzy, so he clutched onto the railing. A few men were going about their business on the ship, though in sleepy states, and thus did not pay any attention to their pale-faced King

"Are you alright, your highness?" inquired a voice from beside him, causing Caspian to jump slightly, startled. He didn't need to turn to face the man, however, for he recognised the voice of his captain.

"No, Drinian, I don't think I am," he sighed.

The man, Drinian, didn't pry any further. He knew what had been ailing Caspian. Though he didn't allow his personal troubles to affect his attitude in front of the men, they all knew about his kiss with Queen Susan. The whole country did. Word had spread, along with plenty of rumours. Rumours that the pair were lovers, that they were secretly engaged, that a little prince or princess was on the way. However, Drinian wasn't interested in fishwives' gossip. He cared only for his King, and at present his King did not appear all too well.

"We'll be docking in the dawn, your majesty," he informed him, looking out to the horizon. "You'll make sure you're well rested by then, won't you sire?"

Caspian smiled in spite of himself, and placed a hand on Drinian's shoulder. "I will. Thank you."

Drinian nodded, hands clasped behind his back. A man of few words, and of even less expressions, he was perhaps one of the most genuine people Caspian had ever had the pleasure of meeting - and as a king you don't meet many. He knew he could trust what Drinian had to say was worth the breath it took. He also believed that Drinian's advice, however honest and sometimes hard to listen to, was worth listening to. More foolish men than he had ignored Drinian's advice, and paid the consequences.

"I'm sure you are aware of the time difference in our world, and the world the Kings and Queens come from, Drinian," Caspian began. His captain nodded, signalling for him to continue. "You understand that whilst eleven months has passed here, a mere second could have passed in their time? And that in a hundred years time, when we're all bones and ash, the Kings and Queens could have aged by a minor hour?"

Drinian was well aware of the time difference between their world, and the Kings and Queens' world. He didn't pretend to understand it, but he knew of it. He knew how distraught the concept made Caspian.

"I've been trying to grapple with the concept myself, going through it over and over in my mind," Caspian sighed. "I hate not knowing. I hate wondering where she is, or what she's doing, or who she's with. I can't move on here, not knowing how she is over there."

"Sire, if you don't mind my saying so, I believe that you shouldn't allow yourself to dwell on the bad," Drinian advised. "You will never be able to look back on the past with fondness otherwise."

Caspian gripped the railing, his knuckles turning white. "Fondness?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "I have no fondness as long as . . . as long as _she's_ involved."

Pursing his lips, Drinian knew that, given time, Caspian would regret ever saying those words. Instead, he chose to ignore them. "I overheard the men discussing Queen Susan today," Drinian began, causing Caspian's head to whip around at the mention of the Queen. His brow was furrowed, and he appeared shocked, as though he hadn't heard her name spoken in eleven months. In truth, he most likely hadn't. "A few didn't believe that she had fought alongside you and the other Kings during the Second Battle of Beruna, let alone commanded the archers."

Caspian smiled at the memory, and then as though reminded of her fate, his lips curled downwards, and his forehead creased in a manner that made him appear almost sinister in the moonlight. "Why are you telling me this, Captain? I don't want to know," he seethed.

Ignoring him, Drinian continued. "They were impressed when one of the fauns, who had been there on the day, Ichor I think is name is, told them that after nearly falling to her death off that ledge, she joined you and her brothers on the battlefield. One of the men said that he'd never seen a woman fight before, and that he'd have loved even more to see a Queen fight."

"I said, I didn't want to hear it," Caspian hissed.

Once again, Drinian continued as though he hadn't heard anything. "Your Highness, you once told me that Queen Susan was unlike anybody you've ever met. You said that along with Queen Lucy, she was the best Queen Narnia had ever seen, and possibly ever will see. Well, the fact remains that there will indefinitely be more Queens. Narnia needs a Queen, regardless of who came before. You need a Queen, sire."

Caspian slammed his fist down on the wooden railing, causing Drinian to flinch slightly and a man who had been slumbering peacefully to stir, reaching for his sword. "I do not want another Queen, I want her!"

Tentatively, Drinian reached out a hand, and placed it gently on his King's shoulder. He could feel how tense his body was, and how much he was burning up. "I understand, sire. Or at least, I think I do."

Caspian sighed, tilting his head towards the breeze. "I don't want to marry anybody else, Drinian. Not if it's not her. I don't think it would be fair, not to Narnia, not to the woman, not to myself."

"Give it time, your Highness."

/

 **Simple and Sweet - Helen Forrest and Artie Shaw**

August 30th, 1942

Southport, North Carolina, U.S.A.

The last eleven months, Susan had found it hard to look at herself in the mirror. She didn't like how pale she looked, or how hollow her eyes were. Her reflection only served as a painful reminder of what had happened to make her so unwell.

Which is why, looking at herself in the mirror, she was surprised at how good she felt. How positive. Her face was glowing, in a strange way, and her blue eyes were bright and sparkling. It would go against all of her beliefs as a modern, 20th century female to suggest that it was because of Johnny Coppola that this sudden change was brought about, but even she couldn't deny that his company had had some impact on her.

Despite her abrupt change in attitude, she couldn't do anything about the nerves raging in her stomach. Her palms were uncharacteristically clammy, and her mouth was dry. Turning from side to side, her scarlet red dress billowing as she moved, she chewed on her lip. The dress was new, a gift from her mother for the Tea party, and it was lovely. Little white flowers adorned the fabric in ivory cotton, with short sleeves, the hem stopping short just above her knees. Her raven coloured hair was down, and wavy. Susan wasn't completely sold, however her mother had ushered her into a pair of red heels.

Speaking of her mother, the beaming woman appeared in the doorway, her hand clasped over her mouth. "Oh my darling girl, how beautiful you are," Helen Pevensie comes. She crossed the room, and held her daughter's face in her hands. Susan leant into her mother's touch, smiling.

"You don't think it's all a bit silly? Like a little girl playing dress up?" Susan asked, anxiously. She couldn't remember the last time she gotten this dolled up - at least not in this world. She knew exactly the last time she had worn a dress this nice, she thought bitterly. It had hung off her shoulders, and was the colour of cream and cornflowers.

Helen cocked her head to the side, her eyes scanning Susan, then she smiled. Holding up a finger, she quickly rushed over to the vanity chest, and rummaged in the small make-up bag. A few seconds later, she triumphantly held up a thin, black tube. Uncapping it, Susan spotted an alarming crimson colour, and knew immediately that her mother intended to paint this lipstick on her lips.

"Don't look so worried, Susan," Helen chuckled, as she began to dap the rich colour onto her lips. Stepping back to admire her work, Helen appeared to be satisfied. "There, you're perfect."

Susan turned around to see her mother's addition on the completed canvas in the mirror, Susan was struck by how grown up she suddenly appeared. How much more mature, and stronger. Suddenly Susan didn't look like the scared and lonely little girl cast out of Narnia, but a woman in control of her life.

"Johnny will at a loss for words," her mother promised, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

As if by magic, the doorbell echoed throughout the house, and Susan's breath hitched in her throat. He was there. She could hear the door open, and the stern voice of her father. "I'd better go down, make sure your dad doesn't scare him off," her mother joked, before walking back towards the door and downstairs.

Easing her breaths, Susan tugged at her dress, and gave one last glance towards the mirror. _You're overreacting_ , she told herself. _There's no need to be this nervous. You're just being friendly, nothing has to come from this. You'll be going back to England soon, you'll never see him again. Nothing can come from this._ With those affirmations in mind, she started towards the door. Susan knew she couldn't allow herself to make the same mistake she made in Narnia - she wasn't sure she could take it again. The first heartbreak she suffered nearly broke her. Up until three days ago, she thought it had.

It wasn't because of Johnny that she was feeling better, it was because she had _met him_. For those few, short hours, she didn't feel so lost, so empty. She was able to laugh without feeling guilty and smile without it slipping. Narnia was the last thing on her mind for the first time in months.

And now it was all she could think about.

Ever since accepting Johnny's invitation, she couldn't help the surges of shame that had washed over her when she remembered a certain someone. How unfair of her to even entertain the idea of attending parties with other men with she knew damn well that her heart belonged to another. How unfair to him, how unfair to _him_ , how unfair to Johnny.

It was this nagging concern that almost made her wipe all the make-up off, and pull her hair loose, and shut the door. But then she heard his voice, his deep, dulcet tones, and knew that she'd be making a huge mistake not walking down those stairs.

So, taking a long breath, she began her descent. Peter caught her eye, and he seemed shocked by her appearance. Susan looked away before she could decipher whether it was good surprise, or bad surprise. Her father and mother were stood together, Gordon's arm around Helen's waist. Her mother was clutching a bunch of posies, pink and white in colour.

Susan's eyes then landed on the young gentleman waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. He was gazing up at her, eyes wide, mouth agape. She was taken aback by his attire; black, smart uniform, adorned with gold. US Navy dress attire. Clutching a vivd, red rose in one hand, and his pristine, white hat in the other, he was every girl's dream. True to her mother's word, he was speechless.

"Look what Lieutenant Coppola got me, Susan," her mother exclaimed, cheerily, holding out the posies for her to examine.

Raising an eyebrow, Susan reached the last step, looking Johnny up and down. "Lieutenant?"

Johnny seemed to be trying to find his words, unable to tear his eyes off of Susan. "Only Junior Grade," he answered modestly, almost bashfully. "Enlisted as an Officer as soon as I turned seventeen."

Susan nodded, impressed, as Johnny was lured in by her captivating beauty once more. Her father coughed, stirring Johnny once more.

"Oh, this is for you," he stammered slightly, holding out the rose.

Susan took the flower, blushing. No man had given her a rose before. In Narnia, men would come with elaborate gifts, such as exotic animals, exquisite silks, and enchanting jewels, but no flowers. "Thank you, it's lovely," she told him, truthfully.

Johnny grinned, relieved almost, clearly glad she liked the gesture. "You look beautiful, by the way," he mumbled.

Susan's blush deepened. "You too," she replied, then realised her word choice, and screwed up her eyes, and shook her head. "I mean, you look very dashing."

Before Johnny had a chance to reply, her father tapped his watch. "Shouldn't you both be going?" he sighed, his eyes narrowed.

"Shame to miss it," Peter added, in a monotonous tone.

Susan rolled her eyes, as Johnny held out his arm for her to hold onto. Smiling, she took it, as he led her outside. Susan could hardly believe her own eyes when she saw the car outside waiting for them.

It was a dazzling 1938 Chrysler Imperial Convertible, in royal blue. Sunlight shone off the windscreen and the mirrors, giving the impression that the car was made of diamonds.

"It's a friends. Let me borrow it for the night," Johnny whispered in her ear. The closeness sent shivers down her spine. "Hoped it would impress you."

"Well, consider me impressed, _Lieutenant_ ," Susan retorted, her red lips curling upwards in a teasing sort-of way.

Johnny laughed, and then proceeded to open the car door for her. She climbed in, graciously. He walked round to the driver's side, and got in too, closing the door behind him. Glancing to his right, he beamed at Susan, and put his hat back on.

"Have fun, you two!" Helen called to them from the doorway, waving. "And don't forget to be back home before eleven!"

Blowing her mother a kiss, and ignoring her brother's glowers, Susan then turned to Johnny, who she found was already staring at her. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked him, incredulously.

Johnny took his time to answer, smiling at her. "Because it's just dawned on me that I'm going to this party with the prettiest girl in the whole of Southport," he finally said.

"So, you've met every girl in Southport, have you?" Susan asked him, smartly. Taken aback, Johnny shook his head. "Well, when you do, then you can tell me I'm the prettiest one - if that's still the case."

Chuckling, Johnny started the engine. "You know, I've never met anyone quite like you, Miss Susan Pevensie."

"No, I don't suppose you have."


	3. New York, New York

**A.N: Thank you for being so patient with me, I've been away for a week visiting friends. I hope that you're liking the story so far, I've been writing my socks off praying that it's good enough. Please tell me what you think about it in the reviews, and if anybody has any questions I'll be more than happy to answer!**

 **Chapter Three**

 **Anything Goes - Lew Stone and His Band**

December 19th, 1942

King George V Dock, London, U.K.

Lucy chewed her lip, anxiously, standing on her tiptoes to look over the sandbags, piled sky-high. Edmund stood beside her, watching the soldiers march past him.

The port was flooded in steam, and the smell of oil was almost overwhelming. There were at least a two hundred soldiers to a ship, and the port was brimming with warships. It was unnerving, their presence. They looked so much like the little toy ships children play with during the game _Battleship_ when Lucy could see them from her bedroom window, that up close the sheer size of them made her feel somewhat faint. She couldn't help but shudder slightly, thinking about all the men aboard those ships, potentially sailing to their deaths. Their last view of home would be out of those small, claustrophobic windows.

"What's the time?" Lucy inquired, hugging her arms to her chest, turning to her brother.

Breaking his gaze away from the line of soldiers, Edmund glanced down at his wrist. "Ten-to-nine," he replied, still rather distant. Lucy furrowed her brow, and followed her brother's eye-line. Spotting the soldiers, she cocked her head to the side.

"Isn't Susan's boyfriend in the Navy?" she asked, curiously. "He could be any one of those men."

"Johnny's in the U.S. Navy, Lu," he sighed. "Look at the uniforms, they're ours. And he's not Susan's boyfriend. They're just friends."

The winter weather was sharp, biting at any exposed flesh it could sink it's teeth into. The wait, however, was worse. An hour they'd been stood there already, with no idea of when the ferry was to dock. It could be minutes away, it could be hours, it could have even sunk, though they didn't want to consider that.

"When do you think we're going to meet him?" Lucy inquired, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "This _friend_ of hers. She talks enough about him in her letters."

Edmund shrugged. "Probably never. He might not survive this war."

Lucy gasped, and frowned at her brother. "Edmund! You can't say things like that!"

Once again, Edmund shrugged. "It's true, isn't it? I mean, I thought Susan was smarter than this. Getting involved with a soldier during a time like this, it's not like her."

Before Lucy could respond, a loud horn echoed throughout the dockyard. Edmund and Lucy both jumped, and turned to look over the sandbags. Sure enough, though they had difficulty believing it, they saw a ship that would have been impressive in it's own right if it weren't ploughing past hundreds of two thousand ton warships. Passengers were leant against the railings, staring slack-jawed at the Royal Navy fleet beside them. Lucy scoured the crowd, trying to pick out her siblings or parents, to no prevail. She supposed they could have been indoors.

It took another half hour for the ship to dock, and the passengers to begin to disembark. A large assembly of civilians awaiting other family members had begun to gather, pushing Edmund and Lucy aside. Grumbling, Edmund tried to elbow his way back to the front, to no prevail. He cursed under his breath, only earning him a clip on the ear from his sister.

Suddenly, when the last few passengers had alighted, and the crowd had began to disperse, Lucy spotted them. Her mother, her father, and Peter - but no sign of Susan. Pointing them out to Edmund, she ran and hugged her mother. She'd missed everything about her mother, most of all her embrace. Looking past her shoulder, she waited for Susan to appear. However, Helen Pevensie shook her head.

"Lucy dear, there's something you need to know," her mother began, with a thin smile Lucy knew she was just plastering on to stop herself from crying. "I'm afraid Susan isn't coming home."

Furrowing her brow, Lucy shook her head. "I don't understand."

She turned to her father, who was looking down at his feet, hands behind his back, with a grim expression. Peter also shared a similar disdain, jaw gritted. Both of them seemed to be more angry than upset, so at least Lucy had some comfort in the fact that Susan wasn't dead. But what then?

"Where is she?" Edmund piped up, as he too hugged his mother.

"She stayed behind," Peter answered, bluntly. It was clear that he did not approve of their sister's choices.

"With Johnny?" Lucy exclaimed, growing more and more confused.

Her mother shook her head, and reached out to Gordon Pevensie to steady her. Her voice was raw and feeble, as if she had spent the last couple of days crying. "No, he's gone to sea. We're not sure where," she sighed. Tears started to pool in the corner of her soft eyes, and her lip was trembling. Her husband didn't hesitate to place his arm around her shoulders, keeping her from stumbling. "Susan applied to a nursing school, in New York. She was accepted, and travelled up there yesterday."

"That's good though, isn't it?" Lucy pointed out, still puzzled.

"It's an army nursing school, Lu," Peter explained, sombrely. "She's going to the front line when her training is done."

Lucy's stomach dropped when she heard the words 'front line'. Her father had been to the front line, and he'd barely made it back unscathed. Peter was due to go soon, next year. She'd had time to prepare for them to disappear, off doing their duty. They were of age, both healthy, they had to go. Well Susan, she'd only just turned eighteen, three days ago. She had no obligation to join, nobody forcing her hand.

They all walked home, with Finchley being only a couple of miles from the dockyard. Helen and Gordon walked together, arms linked. The three Pevensie siblings strolled a few paces behind them, speaking in hushed tones. Lucy was in the middle, looking up at her two brothers. As nice as it was to have Peter home, she'd had her heart set on them _all_ being reunited.

"She'll be alright, won't she?" she asked, with optimism. "I mean, if Narnia taught us anything it's that Susan can take care of herself. Plus she's fought in battles too - this time she'll just be on the sidelines."

"But Lu, she's not got her bow and arrow, or us, with her," Edmund said, rather matter-of-factly.

"And you remember what she was like, even before she went to America," Peter added, with a disheartened expression. "It's as if she won't let herself think about Narnia, let alone talk about it. I'm concerned about her. This is not the Susan we used to know."

Edmund clocked his fingers, gasping. "I said the same thing! Susan would never have become so attached to a man who lives on the other side of the globe during a war!"

"So you both think that Susan's changed?" Lucy demanded. All she felt she had done that morning was ask question after question. "Why? Because we left Narnia?"

Edmund and Peter glanced at each other, out of the corner of their eyes, and then back at their sister. "I don't know, Lu, I really don't know what's happening in her mind at the moment," Peter sighed. His crossed his arms, and looked her square in the eyes. "What I do know, however, is that Susan was heartbroken when she came back from Narnia. It was really affecting her. Nightmares and the such. I couldn't even mention Caspian's name without her lashing out. Then, all of a sudden she meets this Johnny and all sense of rationing and reasoning goes out the window. Why didn't she wait until she back to London, and studied nursing here? Why did she have to choose New York? The old Susan would have thought about it properly, not put her name down last minute."

 _It certainly was curious,_ Lucy thought. _This abrupt change in Susan. Has she really been able to get over Caspian this quickly, within mere months of knowing this American solider?_

/

 **Theme From New York, New York - Frank Sinatra**

New York City, New York, U.S.A.

 _Dear Mum and Dad,_

 _I'd like to begin this letter by apologising profusely to you both. I'm sorry that the morning of my birthday, a day you had both put so much effort into being a memorable and wonderful occasion, I sprung the news so insensitively upon you. I'm sorry that I was not able to return home with you both, and that it was I who had to wave you off in New York. I'm sorry for all the sleepless nights my not being there will cause. I'm sorry for all the worrying you're both going to be doing over these next few years._

 _What I am not sorry for is my beginning this nursing course._

 _I understand that it is not fair of me to leave so abruptly like this. I understand your anger, or your sadness, or even your disappointment. I'd like you to know that I do not take any of it personally, and that it was not my intention for you to get hurt. But please, try and see this situation from my point of view. It was three months after the war broke out, in 1939, that father was sent away to France. We didn't see him for a year and a half, but I never once complained, looking after Lucy and Edmund as best as I could when we were evacuated. I was only fifteen. Then, Peter joined up and he too will soon leave for the front. Johnny's left as well, for goodness knows where, and neither of us haven't the faintest idea when he'll be home. I've made my peace with my father, my brother, and my friend all joining the cause. I may not like it, but I've not fought them against it._

 _This is the reason why I have to ask that you don't fight me against staying in America. I cannot sit by any longer, watching as everyone I love disappears to the frontline. That's why I've become a nurse, or at least will be. I'm doing my part for the war effort, just as dad, Peter, and Johnny are, among countless others. You must realise that I cannot be content at home knowing that I could be over here, helping. It's not right, not if I'm old enough to actually do something of use to somebody. It's all well and good growing potatoes, and sewing blackout curtains, but it's not enough._

 _My course starts tomorrow, which will be the 20th of December. I'll send you updates when I can, so you know exactly what's going on over here. I love you both, very much. I hope you can accept my decision._

 _Love, Susan._

 _/_

 _Dear Private Pevensie,_

 _It's still very strange, calling you that. I know your papers were made official nearly five months ago, but so much has happened since then that I haven't really had time to consider the weight of those words; Private Pevensie. I thought by starting off this letter referring to you as such, I'd be preparing myself for the days to come, but really I think it's foolish to think that anything let alone a few words are going to prepare me._

 _You are to be sent to the frontline soon, I imagine. No, poor choice of dialogue there. I don't want to imagine it. Not you, shivering in a trench somewhere, a hail of gunfire soaring over your head. I assume that's what the trenches are like, I'm only going off what some of the soldiers have told me. The ones that are alright to talk, still intact. Dad won't say much about it, though mum assures me we just need to give him time. Time - something everybody clings onto but can't ever be sure of. So temperamental is time, especially in our current turbulent climate._

 _I know I'm rambling, but you must understand what I'm saying? Nobody can be certain about anything any more - whether they'll wake up in the morning to a blitzed house, or if their sweetheart will return home from war, or if they'll ever get to hold their brother again. I don't like feeling useless, Peter, I never have. I don't like this feeling of being helpless, left at home whilst the men are faced with all the work. You, dad, even Johnny - you've all joined up because you think it's your duty because you are men. You are of the right age and gender that to remain in the comfort of your own homes whilst others lay down their lives is deemed inappropriate and immoral. Well, what's to be said of us women? We're the ones who give away our sons, fathers, and partners to war, and are told that what we can do to help them is dig up a few carrots!_

 _I've dug my fair share of vegetables, Peter. I'm tired of watching you all leave whilst I'm stuck behind. That's why I've decided to become a nurse. At least this way I'll be busy, I'll be working, and I'll be of use. I'll be able to see the consequences of my assistance first hand, when I'm helping to save lives. Mum and dad won't understand at first, so you'll have to look after them. They still see me as that broken girl they picked up from school ten months ago, not this one that Johnny's helped put back together._

 _Please, make sure you're there for Lucy and Edmund whilst you're still in England. I think they'll get it, or at least I hope they will. Tell them that I'll miss them, and that I'll write as much as I can - Lu will take some convincing._

 _Love, Su._

 _/_

 _Dear Ed,_

 _I suppose you're jealous I got to fly the nest first? Despite being the second youngest, you've always been the most eager to leave. Not because you don't love us, but because you're restless, and crave independence. Well, I suppose you're the only one who could possibly understand just how I've been feeling these past few months._

 _I haven't been content with sitting back and letting others fight this war for me, just as I suspect you have been unhappy too. As a woman, becoming a nurse is the only thing I can where I feel that I'm going to be of some real use to people. I'm eighteen, I don't need anybody's permission to sign up - just as you would argue if you were old enough to enlist now._

 _I am going to miss you and the others terribly. These five months have been the longest the four of us have ever been apart, and these next four months I'm afraid will feel even longer. Please don't feel as though I'm abandoning you all. The hardest part about signing up for this nursing course was the prospect of not stepping off that boat and seeing you and Lucy again._

 _I'll keep you all up-to-date with my goings-on here in New York. You never know, I met even sneak in some souvenirs._

 _Love, Su._

 _/_

 _Dear Lu,_

 _Sorry you're having to read this instead of hearing firsthand from me. I'd have loved to come home and see you, Lu, its just I can't face another goodness knows how many more months of sitting and waiting. Dad's already been to the front, and he'll be going back soon, taking Peter with him too. We both know that if Ed was eighteen, he'd be off down to the recruitment offices first thing. I'm only doing what's expected of the men._

 _There's one thing you should know Lu; girls are capable of just as much as boys. Perhaps more so._

 _You'll understand, I just know it. You've always been the first in line to get your hands dirty. Who knows, this course could eventually lead to a career? I've always quite liked the idea of being knowledgeable about medicine, and the workings of the body. This way I can skip the years long process and jump straight into something useful and practical._

 _You'll like it here in America, Lu. North Carolina was extraordinary, it really was. The water looked like crystals, and the sky like sapphires. The heat was warm enough so that I've got a splash of colour across my cheeks, but not too hot so that it was unbearable. I feel as though it reminds me of somewhere, though I can't quite put my finger on it._

 _I arrived in New York this morning, and already I feel like a local. I'm sat in a little café overlooking the Hudson River, the iconic skyline behind me, and I'm feeling slightly overwhelmed. Johnny grew up here, in an apartment in Brooklyn. He's told me everything I could possibly ever wish to know about this city, telling me all the best places to eat and drink - such as this café. He's also Italian, or at least his mother was born there and his father's family hails from Sicily, which means that if I ever fancied a - I believe he called it a pizza? - then I know just where to go for the best slice in the city._

 _I can't wait for you to meet him, Lu. Johnny's the most generous, the kindest, the smartest and most courageous man I've ever met. I told you how we met, with him jumping into the ocean to retrieve my shoes? Could you imagine a man here leaping into the Thames just to fetch a pair of soggy slippers? I've told him all about you and Ed, and he says that he'd love to be properly introduced back in London, when he comes for a visit after the war is finished._

 _I hope that you can forgive me for not coming home, but be excited instead for the opportunities I know have._

 _Love, Su._

 _/_

 _Dear Johnny,_

 _New York is every bit as magical as you told me it would be. I'm sat, right now, in that cafe you suggested, Sal's. You're right, the view is incredible. I can't believe this is where you used to work before enlisting. I don't think I'd have ever been able to leave._

 _I don't know how I'm ever going to be able to thank you for suggesting I take this course. I've been feeling like a spare part in London for such a long time now, I'm irritated with myself for not thinking of it sooner. You helped alleviate some of my frustration in Southport, but now that you've gone away to sea, it's my job now to ensure that I'm doing something of use._

 _The hardest part about applying wasn't the tests, or the waiting. It's been telling my family. I know that I've devastated my parents, as they only wanted me safe and kept away from the war. I had to tell them that war is unforgiving, that it leaves nobody untouched. Peter's angry with me, why though I'm not sure. I think he believes that I am being impulsive, signing up as a knee jerk reaction to you going to the front. I assured him as I assured you - I am an adult now, fully capable of making my own decisions without somebody having to hold my hand. Lucy and Edmund I expect will be disappointed I haven't returned home to London, though I suspect of all people they'll understand._

 _Happy birthday, dear Johnny. Or at least, it is your birthday today as I write this. Don't think I've forgotten - check your kit bag if you haven't already, there should be a little something in there from me. It's not the whole gift, mind you. You'll have to see me in person for the other one. Thank you for my birthday present too, the bracelet is beautiful. I'm being sincere when I say that no boy has ever given me jewellery before; at least, not something you can't find at the bottom of a cereal box. You'll have to write and tell me when you're on leave so we can celebrate together._

 _It's a shame you're not here to show me around, I'd have quite liked the company. I hope you're okay, wherever you are, and that this letter even reaches you. I miss you._

 _Love, Susan._


	4. Wave Me Goodbye

**A.N: Thank you all for being patient with me! This chapter has taken a lot of work, as I'd like to fill in all the background details before I take the story to Narnia in a couple of chapters time - perhaps Chapter 7? Inspiration for this particular chapter has come, in part, from the film** ** _Testament of Youth._** **If you've seen the film, you'll know just where I've drawn influence from. Please, let me know what you think so far and leave a review! Hope you enjoy the story!**

 **Chapter Four**

 **Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye - Gracie Fields**

January 20th, 1944

Field Hospital, Monte Cassino, Italy

Never had Susan seen so much blood. Her fingers ached from sewing up wounds, and her eyes were straining from little sleep. Soldier's cries for help were being drowned out by the explosions and hail of gunfire in the near distance. Susan wasn't sure what she'd rather hear - the men crying out in pain, or the enemy nearing.

She and the other nurses of Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service had travelled to the town of Cassino, located at the foot of the mountain Monte Cairo just thirty-six hours ago. In that time they had been run ragged, working tirelessly to treat men of all nationalities. Susan had healed and attend to American soldiers, British soldiers, Free French soldiers, Polish soldiers, Canadian soldiers, Australian soldiers, New Zealand soldiers, South African solders, and Italian Royalist soldiers. Many had died in her arms, many had been saved by her hands. The Allied lines kept them all safe for now, but nobody could be sure about how long they could hold it for.

Savouring a rare moment to herself, Susan wiped her brow on the back of her sleeve. Her hair was bound back by a white cap, and she had on a khaki-coloured dress, buttoned up at the front, her new Lieutenant rank slides on her arm. The weather was bitter, but Susan was impervious to it. After rushing to and fro between patients, she was working up quite the sweat.

Closing her eyes, trying to compose herself, Susan couldn't help but hear the struggles of one of her fellow nurses in the tent. Sister Kathleen was trying to console a badly wounded man, despite the complication that he was rambling incessantly in French, whilst she could not comprehend a word of it. Fortunately, Susan was somewhat proficient in the language, and made no hesitation in stepping in.

Placing a hand on the man's arm, she recognises the uniform of that of a Free French soldier. He couldn't have been very old, perhaps the same age as her. The man's leg had been torn completely off, by shrapnel Susan supposed. The cut was messy, and incurable. Swallowing, Susan knew that the pain must have been unbearable. The Frenchman looked desperately into her eyes, whole body trembling, as he sobbed. Words were flowing from his lips in no conceivable pattern, and he appeared to be going into shock.

" _My leg! I can't feel it!_ " he cried out in his native tongue, his voice hoarse and feeble. " _Oh God, I'm dying!_ "

"It's alright, old chap! Susan, tell him it's alright!" Kathleen begged, pale-faced and a little unsteady. She was suffering just as the other nurses were. Fatigue and hunger did not mix well with the horrendous sights they were enduring in theses tents.

" _Be still, it'll be alright soon_ ," Susan assured him, recalling all her French lessons. She was sure her pronunciation was a little rusty, but the man understood her all the same. His breathing slowed, as he ceased calling out for his missing limb, and instead gazed into Susan's eyes with fascination and faint recollection.

" _Thérèse?_ " he whispered, taking Susan aback. " _Is it really you, my love?_ "

Looking from a rather bemused Kathleen, to this tormented patient, Susan was at a loss for words. This soldier clearly, in his distress, had mistaken her for another woman, someone he clearly cared for. Should she play along, in an attempt to console this poor man who was a mere few minutes away from death, misleading him in the process, or should she be honest and risk causing him more anguish? It was a simple choice, really.

" _Yes, I'm here,_ " she replied, smiling softly at him. The man instantly calmed, and reached out to hold her hand. " _Don't be afraid._ "

" _Forgive me, Thérèse. I should have never left you. I should have married you when we had the chance_ ," he apologised, tears pooling in his eyes. " _Please, forgive me._ "

Susan could do nothing to stop her own tears falling, as she shook her head. " _There's nothing to forgive. You have been such a brave, brave man._ "

Managing a smile, the man brought Susan's hand to his lips as he planted a gentle kiss on it. Then, he placed his arm back on the bed, still gripping Susan's hand, as he looked up at the beige canopy. There was a small tear in the fabric, and a glimpse of the sky could be seen through it. It was a most beautiful shade of azure blue, without a cloud in sight. Still smiling, the man appeared to be at peace, finally.

Susan watched, with a lump in her throat, as he died. His hand grew slack, and she was able to pull her hand free. Behind her, Kathleen sighed, as she had not dared breathe watching the beautiful scene unfold in front of her. Reaching forwards, Susan shut the man's eyes.

"Whatever you said to him Susan, it helped," Kathleen told her, softly.

"He thought I was his sweetheart, Thérèse. He asked me to forgive him for leaving," Susan explained, unable to tear her eyes away from the French soldier. "I told him that I did forgive him, that I was Thérèse. That wasn't my place to say. I shouldn't have lied."

"You allowed him some peace before he died Susan, there's no dishonesty in that," Kathleen assured her. "Whomever this Thérèse is, she'll probably be grateful that you said and did the things you did if it meant this man died without pain."

Susan was trying to think of how to respond, when the sound of a truck pulling up outside the tent interrupted her thoughts. Nurses were running to the vehicle, which was brimming with American soldiers. All of them were injured in some shape or form, whether that be bullet wounds, detached limbs, or other assorted ailments. The driver jumped out, and began assisting the nurses with carrying the men inside.

With her arm around a Captain, supporting him as he stumbled, Susan asked him how many more truckloads they are to expect from this new wave of injured men.

"This is it, Sister," he replied, in a strained voice. "Only seventeen men from this company made it out. Seventeen Army men, and two Naval soldiers, caught up in the crossfire."

"Naval soldiers?" Susan cried, wide-eyed. Immediately her mind turned to Johnny. "Who are they, Captain?"

"All Lieutenants, can't remember their names. Something Italian I believe. Why, do you know them, Sister?"

Susan sat the Captain down on the bed, her heart racing. Propping his leg up and tying an exceptional tourniquet, she gestured to one of the other nurses to tend to the man. "Possibly, Captain. And it's Lieutenant, if you don't mind, not Sister. I'm an Army nurse, sir, if you couldn't tell."

With that she bound back over to the truck, scouring through the bustle of men all now making their way over to the tent. Many of the men were disfigured to Susan's horror - mustard gas, she presumed - and so relied on the name tapes on each of their uniforms. There was a Hughes, and a Popplewell, and a Gabaldon, but no Coppola. Three Johnsons, two Smiths, one O'Connor, but no Coppola. Susan considered calling out his name, with the hope that embody would answer, but she spotted the Matron, or Major Forman as she preferred to be called, watching her with beady eyes. Shooting the woman a plastered-on smile, Susan rushed to aid the first man she could spot, not paying much attention to anything besides the nasty gunshot wound in his shoulder.

"You can lean on me sir, I won't bite, I promise," Susan teased, hoping that she would distract the soldier from the agony he must be experiencing.

Suddenly the man stopped, and Susan feared that the pain was too much for him. She tried to lead him over to the nearest empty bed as soon as she could, but he wouldn't move. Looking up at the man, Susan felt her heart drop. His dark locks were messy, and longer than they had been when they last met. His eyes were tired, but full of acknowledgment. His once white naval uniform was in tatters, a large bloodstain growing on his right shoulder.

"Susan?"

Without hesitation or delay, Susan launched at Johnny, wrapping her arms around his neck. He grinned, and held her close to him, despite the shooting pains in his arm. Leaning into the crook in her neck, she could feel his breath in her ear, soft and gentle. "I knew we'd see each other again," he whispered. "Didn't I tell you we'd see each other again?"

Smiling, Susan nodded, pulling away from Johnny. She couldn't tear her eyes off him, however. She wanted to make sure he was real, that he really was there, in front of her. "It's been over a year," she gasped, drinking him in. He was twenty years old now, and he'd only gotten more handsome, if that was possible. His cheekbones were more defined, and the makings of a beard were beginning to show.

"And not a second has gone by that I haven't thought about you," he told her, sincerely. His eyes were transfixed, staring unabashedly at her. "You're just as I remember you. Except, of course, the uniform. It suits you, I think."

Susan opened her mouth to say something, then caught sight of Major Forman approaching them. Hastily, Susan began to lead Johnny over to a dressing station, before the sharp-tongued matron could snap at her. Beginning to think more professionally than personally, Susan instructed Johnny to take his shirt off so that she could get a better look at the wound, though she couldn't help the slight brush creep up on her cheeks when she caught sight of Johnny's chest as she began to clean the gaping hole left by the bullet.

"My God, Johnny, this wound . . . " Susan gasped, dabbing gently with a damp cloth.

"It's treatable, isn't it?" he winced, gritting his teeth together.

Nodding, Susan tried to smile at him. She placed a hand on his unscathed shoulder. "Yes, of course, but it's deep. The bullet is still in there, I'm afraid I'll have to get it out," she told him, unsteadily, watching his reaction carefully. "Is that alright?"

"Susan, I trust you to do what's necessary," he assured her, patting her hand. "I'd trust you with my life."

Without really thinking, Susan gulped and said; "You are." Immediately she clasped a hand over her mouth, and shook her head, whilst Johnny merely chuckled. "Oh, I didn't mean - "

"I've been shot, Susan, I didn't expect for this to be easy," he laughed, reaching out to hold her hand. "I'm glad I can still laugh, though. When I stop that's when I know something is seriously wrong."

Feeling somewhat relieved, though still horrendously queasy, Susan examined the wound closer. Upon further inspection, she decided that the bullet would have to be removed immediately, and sewn up, before infection threatened to cause further complications. As she began to clean the area further, Susan noticed that a shirtless Johnny had caused quite a commotion among the other nurses in the tent, many of whom rushed over to see if they could assist in any way.

After dismissing a particularly persistent Staff Nurse by the name of Olive with an uncharacteristically stern voice, Susan found Johnny grinning at her, despite the searing pain of the application of antiseptic sulphonamide powder. Furrowing her brow, she looked at him quizzically. "Have I got something on my nose?"

Johnny shook his head. "Are you jealous?" he teased. "Of all the other nurses paying me attention?"

Her cheeks flushed, and she couldn't meet Johnny's gaze. "Of course not, I just don't like all the fuss. If you'd prefer, I can call Sister Olive back over and she can carryon. Though I should warn you, this is her first placement out of medical school, so I can't promise that it won't be excruciating," she retorted, rather quick-wittedly.

Seemingly impressed with her savvy response, he grinned even wider. "No, I'd much rather you treated me, Nurse Pevensie - you're much prettier to look at than Sister Olive," he told her, oozing what he hoped was charm. When Susan shot him a rather wary glare, he was quick to correct himself. "And, of course, far better company. Handier with a scalpel I suppose, too?"

Biting back a smile, Susan composed herself. "You should be so lucky that I _don't_ have to use the scalpel," she exclaimed. "And can you not see the rank slides? I'm a Lieutenant now, just like you."

Johnny leaned back on his good arm, and admired Susan in her uniform. "So you are," he muttered, proudly.

/

Removing the bullet had proved trickier than Susan had first thought. The silver piece of steel had fractured into smaller fragment inside the shoulder, and trying to take out the broken shards of metal without causing further damage to the muscle or joint was easier said than done. It didn't help that Susan was painfully aware of Johnny watching her intently as she worked. Finally, after what had felt like a lifetime, all the fragments were removed, and Susan cleaned the crimson blood from the wound once more, and began to stitch up the gaping hole.

As if the pressure of Johnny watching her every move wasn't enough, Major Forman had suddenly appeared over Susan's shoulder. Hands tucked behind her back, nose upturned, she started to hum attentively. "Hmm, nice work Lieutenant Pevensie," she nodded, though her scowl did not disappear. It was as though the expression was permanently etched into her face. "Stitching could be a little neater, however, but good effort all the same."

"Thank you, Major," Susan replied, relieved. She had half expected the nurse to instruct her to unpick all the thread and start again.

Major Forman's beady eyes flitted over Johnny's bare torso, and Susan could swear she spotted a slight quiver in the lip. "Now, put a shirt back on this man, he's distracting the other nurses." With that the woman scurried off to torment some other poor, unsuspecting nurse, leaving Johnny and Susan behind giggling like schoolchildren behind their textbooks.

As Johnny got dressed, Susan plumped up his pillow for him, and fetched a somewhat scratchy blanket from underneath the camp bed. She instructed him to lay down, and rest, while she dressed the wound with bandages. Doing as he was told, Johnny put his head down on the pillow, and positioned himself so that Susan had easy access to arm.

"What are you doing here, Johnny?" Susan inquired, finally. The question had been niggling at her for the last hour.

"I was travelling with three other men from my unit. The Navy have been supporting Army campaigns in North Africa, you see - that's, as you know, where I've been stationed for the last five months. We came over on a boat from Tunisia to Mazara del Vallo, in Sicily. My family originates from Sicily, on my father's side. The other Lieutenants I came with also have family in Sicily. We thought we could spend a few days in the old country, and then catch up with the ship in Naples. However, we got caught up in all of this on the way, just out luck," Johnny explained, and then suddenly grew very quite. "Frankie, I saw him die. He was shot through the head beside me. I haven't seen Joe since the Army picked us up. They heard him speaking Italian, and thought he was a spy sent by the Italian Social Republic. Sonny - he was in the truck with me. He's in a bad way. A mine went off near him, I think he lost his hearing."

Susan listened, transfixed. She allowed Johnny to ramble on, his thought going at a million miles an hour. She knew just as well as he did the horrors of war, and the cost of losing people you care about. Only two weeks ago, whilst attending to a British Private, Susan watched as a hail of machine gun fire opened on the trenches, killing a nurse she had joined up with.

When Johnny had finished talking, Susan held out her hand to hold his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She stayed with him until his eyes began to close, and he was fast asleep, heavy gunfire echoing just a few miles away. _What an unfortunate lullaby to fall asleep to,_ Susan remarked.

/

After a thirteen hour shift - which was not uncommon in here profession - Susan was finally relieved from duty. She allowed herself a quick nap in the makeshift tent, which was adjoined to the much larger one the soldiers all shared, before she pulled up a chair besides Johnny's bed. She couldn't help but admire him as he slept, her eyes roaming over his handsome features. An inky curl hung in front of his closed eyes, and Susan couldn't resist the urge to gently push the lock back into place.

At the delicate touch, Johnny began to stir, his eyelids fluttering open. Susan, mentally cursing herself, retracted her hand immediately, and pretended to busy herself with her nurse's cap. Her patient turned to face her, a little groggy, though managed a smile.

"You are a sight for sore eyes, Susan Pevensie," he told her earnestly. "I feared that I had dreamt seeing you again, and that I had died out on that battlefield."

"No, not a dream," she assured him. "I'm still here."

Shifting on the bed, which Susan knew all to well to be rather uncomfortable, Johnny managed to sit up right, all without straining his injured arm. "How's being a nurse, then?" he asked, solemnly. And don't say what you think I want to hear, but what you really think. Please."

Susan looked down at her hands, and began to fiddle with her nails absentmindedly. Dirt and blood had started to build up under them, despite all her scrubbing she had done in the makeshift sink outside. "I love it, most of the time. It's rewarding, it really is. I feel like I'm really doing something of use, that my being here is actually helping people," she started, uneasy about speaking ill of the job she had fought her family to get, and one she did quite enjoy. "But it is hard, sometimes. The hours are long, and the work often seems impossible. Some days I feel as if for every life I save, I witness a hundred more deaths. Earlier today one of my fellow nurses was struggling to calm a poor French soldier. His leg had been blown off, and he wasn't going to make it. I can speak French thanks to lessons at school, so I rushed over to help. This man was in such agony, and he was going into severe shock. Then he looked up at me, and he calmed instantly. He thought I was this woman, Thérèse. I think she was his sweetheart. He begged me for forgiveness, saying that he shouldn't have left, and instead married me when he had the chance - well, not me, this other woman. I didn't know what to do, except to play along. I told him he had nothing to forgive, and that he was nothing but brave. He died seconds later, with a smile on his face."

It was Johnny's turn this time to reach out and hold her hand. Her own grimy palms were clean as a newborn's compared to his. Neither of them minded, though. They hadn't been able to touch each other for one whole year and two months. This sudden contact after nothing for so long was like a breath of fresh air, amongst all the chaos and destruction.

"You did a kind thing," Johnny told her, trying to meet her eyes.

Susan's throat tightened. "I feel like I cheated him, allowing him to die under false pretences."

"That's not how I see it. If my injuries had been fatal, and I had been brought here and in my shock I mistook one of the other nurses for you, I'd like to think that they would let me die believing I had gotten to see you one last time."

He opened his mouth as though he were about to say something else, then changed his mind. Then - though Susan thought she could have imagined it - she thought she saw a flush of pink tinge his cheeks. "I've been meaning to ask you something for a while now, but couldn't find the right words to use in a letter," he finally began, clearly deciding that at whatever cost to his own pride, he had to say what was on his mind. "Are you . . . I mean have you . . . it'd be alright if you have, not that I have but . . . is there anyone?"

Confused, Susan cocked her head. "What do you mean ' _anyone_ '?"

"Some sweetheart back home in England," Johnny answered, somewhat hesitantly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

Susan shook her head in disbelief. "Of course I haven't!" she exclaimed, despite the tiny, nagging doubt in the back of her mind. She knew there was no other man back in London waiting for her, so why did she feel as though she weren't telling the truth? "Why, have you got some girl waiting for you back in New York?"

"As if there could be anyone else like you," he told her, grinning sheepishly.

Just as she was about to ask exactly what he meant by that, one of the soldiers a few beds down began to cry out. Jumping into duty, Susan rushed over to see what ailed him.

/

January 21st, 1944

Field Hospital, Monte Cassino, Italy

The next day, Susan was tasked with doing the rounds on their ward, feeding the men what little rations they had for breakfast, and tending to their needs. When she arrived by Johnny camped, she was surprised to find the sheets empty, all trace of him vanished, besides his cap. Frowning, she turned to one of the other nurses in the tent, and asked where Lieutenant Coppola had disappeared to. Susan was even more shocked to hear that he was being loaded on a truck and being taken to Naples, and back to sea.

"In his condition?" Susan cried, dropping the tray she had been clutching, but not Johnny's cap, and darted off outside. Bringing her hand up to her eyes to shield herself from the glaring Italian sun, she scoured the surrounding area for any sign of the white uniform to no prevail. The cold was nipping at her exposed flesh, and her breath was circling around her in clouds of vapour. She had almost given up hope of spotting him, when she suddenly heard whistles and shouts.

Snapping her head to the side, she saw a large truck brimming with American Army soldiers, and one Naval Lieutenant that stuck out like a rose among cornfields. Without hesitation, Susan ran towards the vehicle, the men all bellowing words of encouragement. Slightly out of breath and rosy-cheeked, she reached the truck and leant on the little door that separated her from the troops.

"You were going to leave without saying goodbye?" she asked Johnny, unable to keep the hurt from being apparent.

"No, not at all," he quickly said, reaching down to hold her hand. "I'd asked Sister Olive to come and fetch you before I left. Clearly she was not the right person to ask. I should have heeded your warning about her."

Susan tried to laugh, despite the tears threatening to spill. "You forgot your hat," she muttered, holding it out to him.

"I'll trade you," Johnny smiled, handing her a thin envelope, her name written eloquently on the front. "Promise me you'll wait until after I've gone to open that? I think I might have embarrassed myself a bit in there."

Promising, Susan was reluctant to let go of his hand when the truck engine came spluttering to life. Johnny wiped away a stray tear from her cheek with his free hand, and then kept it there, clutching her face. "We will see each other again, won't we?" Susan wished out loud, pressing her forehead against Johnny's.

"Read the letter," he whispered. "It explains everything."

All of a sudden his lips were on hers, and everything else around them blurred into oblivion. Susan closed her eyes, trying to memorise everything about Johnny, from the way their lips moved in unison, or the faint ashy smell of his clothes, or the warm feel of his skin under her fingertips. Then he was torn off her as the truck started to move, and she was left standing in the mud, clutching the letter, watching him leave.

/

 _Dear Susan,_

 _This is only a quick letter, not nearly as long as it needs to be. I'm not very eloquent with words either - that's where my skills lack and yours lie. I just hope these mere few sentences are sufficient enough until I can say them to you, in person._

 _Since that fateful day in Southport just over a year ago, I've been unable to think about much else but you. The way your eyes light up when you talk about books. The way you get dimples when you truly smile. The way your voice sounds when you say my name. The way you laugh the hardest when you think no one is looking. The way you smell like fresh flowers when you toss your hair. I think you're what's kept me going this long, and why I'm determined to make it to the end._

 _What you said yesterday, about that French soldier asking his sweetheart to forgive him for leaving and not marrying her, well it's got me thinking. Thinking about how if I was to die tomorrow, my biggest regret would be not telling you how I feel about you. I think I've felt this way from the moment we met, and my feelings have just grown stronger by the day._

 _Meet me in New York in March, in that little café I told you about. I can't say it all in a letter, so I'll tell you then._

 _Love, Johnny._


	5. Come and Go With Me

**A.N: Thank you all once again for being patient! I promise instead of once a week I'll try and post twice a week. This chapter is a little short, but completely necessary I think in furthering the story along, so I hope you enjoy it! Please leave a review and tell me what you think! The next chapter will focus on the other Pevensie's, so I'm looking forward to catching up with them!**

 **Chapter Five**

 **Come and Go With Me - The Del-Vikings**

March 7th, 1944

Uncle Sal's Cafe, New York, America

"That looks an interesting book you have there, miss," said a cheery voice from behind Susan.

Susan was sat outside, dressed in a white blouse and a navy blue skirt, wrapped in a grey tweed coat that had once belonged to her mother. Her hair was pinned back at the front with little antique pins, and curled behind her. Her cheeks were rosy due to the cold air, and she was seemingly transfixed by the book she was clutching. In the other hand she stirred a small cup of tea, the steam rising in clouds.

She tilted her head to the side, and surveyed the waiter beaming down at her. Tall for his age, which she suspected to be a year or two younger than her, he had dark hair swept neatly off of his face, which was clean-shaven and youthful. He was clad in his uniform, which consisted of a white shirt, a black waistcoat and bowtie.

"' _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ '," she read aloud, flipping to the cover. She then looked back at the boy, and smiled politely at him. "Yes, I suppose it is very interesting. Hard to put down once you start."

The boy chuckled. "I know what you mean, ' _Of Mice and Men'_ is a bit like that."

Once again Susan smiled at him, out of manners, and began to start reading the book again, hoping he'd take the hint and leave her to her reading. Unfortunately, it appeared he did not. He stood in front of her, eager and acquisitive. Tightening her lip, she put the book down once more. "I'm not sure you'd like it," she told him, narrowing her eyes. He was a bit to keen for her liking.

"And why not?" he queried, amused.

"I saw you reading the cartoons in today's New York Times," she replied, rather nonchalantly. "Oscar Wilde hardly seems your kind of thing, does it?"

The waiter took the seat across from her, folding his hands over the table. He was observing her rather scrutinisingly, causing Susan to shift uncomfortably in her chair. "Why don't I take you out for coffee, and you can tell me all about Dorian Gray in that pretty, little accent of yours."

Raising an eyebrow, Susan couldn't believe the abrasiveness of this young man. Scoffing, she shook her head, and held up her cup of tea. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Alright, how about drinks then? There's a great bar further in the city," the man persevered, still managing to grin at her.

"I'm afraid I don't care much for alcohol," she sighed, wishing that he would leave her alone. "Besides, are you even old enough to drink it?"

His grin cracked a little, and as he suffered yet another rejection. Tugging on his bowtie, he chuckled again, this time with a hint of nervousness. Susan could tell that this was a man who rarely got no for an answer. "Well what about water? Surely you drink water?" the man tried one more time."

Susan considered getting up and leaving, but then remembered she was supposed to be meeting someone at the café, and had no way of telling him that she wanted to change the location, promptly. Instead, she placed the book down, and crossed her arms. "It appears I'm going to have to spell it out for you, seeing as though you are unable to read the signs," she said, rather matter-of-factly, irritable. "I'm not interested in you in any other way, besides you being my waiter and topping up my tea for me."

Holding his hands up, the waiter got up out of the chair, and nodded. "I get it, there's another guy," he sighed. "Isn't there?"

Susan thought about the question for a moment, and felt herself break out into a small smile. "Yes, there is."

/

Just when Susan reached the bottom of her teacup, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Groaning, she slammed the book down on the table, thinking that the waiter had returned to pester her further, chancing his luck. "Listen, I have no desire to discuss Oscar Wilde with you over any sort of beverage!" she cried, before turning around and feeling her world stop.

The waiter was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Johnny was stood behind her chair, bewildered. He looked almost unrecognisable out of his naval uniform, this time opting to wear a white polo shirt, brown trousers, and a thin, black jacket. His raven-coloured hair was combed back, though a few loose curls escaped. A wide grin adorned his face, despite his slight bemusement at Susan's outburst.

"Alright, how's Dickens sound?" he teased, in an accent that was only emphasised by the dramatic backdrop that was the New York skyline.

Susan didn't have time to respond, for she had jumped into his arms the second he finished talking. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she found herself cheek-to-cheek with Johnny. His hands were on her back, holding her close to him. The pair remained like that for a while, until Johnny pulled back, awestruck.

"You came," he said, breathless.

Susan looked up into his dark, chocolate-brown eyes. They staring deep into hers, and she felt enamoured. All the hustle and bustle of the city blurred into nothingness, just the presence of Johnny circling her senses. "I promised, didn't I?"

"What was that about Oscar Wilde?" he questioned, curious.

Blushing ever so slightly, Susan tried to dismiss the previous encounter. "Oh, nothing important. Just a persistent waiter, that's all."

Johnny tensed, and reached out to hold Susan's hand. "Did he make any advances towards you?"

Susan nodded. "Three." She didn't see any harm in telling Johnny the truth.

"Can you point him out to me, please?" he asked, in an oddly calm voice one would use to give the illusion they were nothing but calm.

Though a little wary, Susan nodded and gestured to the same waiter who had badgered her earlier. He was falsely laughing at a customer's joke, as he served him and his wife a coffee each. Johnny then began to approach the juvenile, still clutching onto Susan's hand. Hastily she picked her book and purse up, as she followed Johnny.

Johnny cleared his throat, catching the attention of the waiter. Turning around, the waiter smiled at Johnny, the smile then dropping suddenly when he spotted Susan beside him. Face as white as his uniform, the waiter gulped. "How may I help you, sir?" he managed, in a weary voice.

"Yeah, you can learn to take a hint, pal, and stop trying it on with other guys' girls, alright?"

 _Other guys' girls?_ What did Johnny mean by that? Did he consider Susan 'his girl'? If so, why didn't she know? Too many questions raced through her mind, as she and Johnny left the café, leaving the spluttering waiter to explain his actions to the manager and customers. Mulling things over in her brain, she accidentally elbowed a passing stranger, who grumbled and cursed at her as he continued on. Johnny shouted something back to the man, his New York accent as thick as ever.

"You know, if I was here with Peter he'd most likely have hit that waiter in there," Susan sighed, reminiscing. The image of her brother at eighteen scrapping with a group of other boys on the platform at King's Cross Station wasn't one she was particularly fond of.

"I can go back and give him a square one to the jaw, if you'd like?" Johnny suggested, gesturing to the building now a few metres behind them.

Susan quickly shook her head. "Oh no, definitely not," she explained, firmly. "I think that's why I like you so much; your natural reaction to something you don't like isn't to just hit it. You do the right thing."

Johnny beamed, somewhat sheepishly. "You make me want to do the right thing."

/

Over the course of that morning, Johnny successfully gave Susan the true New Yorker tour. Of course, whilst she had been studying there for three months she had visited the Empire State Building, the Rockefeller Centre, the Statue of Liberty, and Times Square. However, she hadn't had a local to show her this glorious city - properly.

Johnny showed her the gym his father boxed at, in the 20's. A large poster of a very handsome man, chiselled with a mischievous grin, adorned the back wall. Susan knew immediately that it was Johnny's father, due to the striking resemblance. Some of the men in there recognised Johnny from before he left to join the Navy, and an elderly gentleman called Donnie even invited him into the ring for one more chance to defend his father's title. The men were more than pleased to be introduced to Susan, few as impressed by her career and exploits abroad as they were by her beauty.

Next Johnny brought Susan to a record shop that he would frequent as a teenager. Reminiscing, Johnny happily pointed out the records that he would spend his pocket money on, rather frivolously he added. Susan laughed harder than she had in a while as she and Johnny held the album covers to their faces, the artists' faces aligning with their own.

After being thrown out of the record store by a red-faced and grumbling owner, Johnny and Susan holding hands as they ran out the door, giggling like schoolchildren, he took her to a local mechanics, explaining he had got his first job there, when he was fourteen. The owner of the shop heard the sound of Johnny's voice, and immediately bound out to engulf him, embracing him. Whilst getting his ribs crushed by the man half his size, coated in oil and grease though still managing to wear a beam the size of the Pontiac Streamliner he was working on, Johnny told Susan that they hadn't seen each other in over two years after Johnny had enlisted.

Last up on their tour was Johnny's apartment in downtown Brooklyn. It was a cramped building, families practically living on top of one another. Susan tried not to appear surprised, but when a rather ragged looking woman started to yell at them in Italian from the doorway of her flat, a crowd of children all under the age of seven at her feet, Susan couldn't help but flinch a little.

"Ignore her, she's just rambling on about us making too much noise," Johnny informed her, before whispering something back to the woman in their native language. Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she nodded, and closed the door.

Johnny's apartment was on the sixth floor. Despite the dingy conditions in the main building, his and his uncle's space was actually rather quaint, with a magnificent view of New York. Susan was transfixed for a minute or two, whilst Johnny called out for his uncle.

"It appears Uncle Paul has gone out," Johnny concluded, taking his jacket off and placing it on the back of the sofa. Susan watched his muscles work, then blushed a little.

"How could you walk around the city in a jacket that thin?" she asked him, tugging off her own coat, heavy and warm. "I'm English, and even I was freezing."

Johnny laughed. "The cold just doesn't affect me," he shrugged. He looked at Susan, standing in front of the window, the midday sun casting a glorious glow around her. "I don't know how it's possible, but I think you grow more beautiful every time I see you."

Looking away, Susan smiled, shaking her head. "It's because the only women you see when your at sea for months are mermaids," she retorted, modestly.

Chuckling once more, Johnny, ran a hand through his hair. "Trust me, the mermaids are nothing compared to you, Susan," he assured her. Then, he held a hand out to her. "Can I show you something?"

Without hesitation, Susan nodded, and took the outstretched hand. He led her down a short hallway, and into a room at the very end. Pushing the door to, Susan surveys the room, curiously. There are posters of baseball players unknown to Susan on the wall, and a pair of worn boxing gloves on the back of a chair. Smiling, she spots a stack of timeworn and tattered books piled high on a bedside table. A couple of aforementioned records can be seen protruding from a cardboard box in the corner of a room too. Susan clocked immediately that this was Johnny's room.

Turning around she finds him watching her, intently. "What was it you wanted to show me?" she asked him.

He gestured to another pile on his desk, this time of paper. Susan looked down at the paper, quickly realising that they were all letters. Picking one up she noticed that it was _her_ handwriting. They were the letters that she had sent Johnny, over the span of their two-year friendship. She felt sentimental, all of a sudden, touched that he still had them.

"I kept every single letter you ever wrote me," he told her, sincerely. "I've reread them all a dozen times. I couldn't bear to throw any away. I just wanted you to see them - to know that you mean a lot to me."

"I can't believe you have them all," Susan breathed, rifling though the letters, some she couldn't even remember sending herself. She turned back around, and saw that Johnny was fiddling with his hands, looking down.

"You know, you're the first girl I've ever had in my room," he muttered. "I've always been too nervous to bring anyone back here."

Susan cocked her head, and slowly started to approach him. "Are you nervous now?"

Johnny nodded. Susan was now stood in front of him, barely a foot between them. She bit her lip, feeling somewhat anxious herself, then bit the bullet. She kissed Johnny, and immediately his lips were moving in sync with hers. This time it wasn't bittersweet, or heavy with hopelessness. It was electric, and thrilling. Whereas time seemingly stopped during their last kiss, everything felt heightened during this one, sped up almost. Johnny held her tight to his chest, stopping only when Susan's fingertips found their way under his shirt.

"Are you sure?" he asked, panting. "We don't have to, if you don't want to."

"I've never been so sure of anything," Susan replied, as she pulled the shirt over his head. She had seen his muscles many times before, and yet she was still left astounded. Johnny then presses his forehead to hers, and beamed.

"I love you," he told her. "I've wanted to tell you for a year now, but I had to tell you face-to-face. I'm in love with you, Susan."

Butterflies soared in her stomach, and she grinned back. "I love you too," she said, the words coming as naturally as though she were asking him for the time, or for directions. All the nerves were gone. Everything she could have fretted about disappeared in a second. She unbuttoned her blouse, Johnny watching her every move, and dropped her skirt to the floor. Johnny reached out and pulled the pins out, her dark, inky black hair falling about her face. Smiling, Johnny placed a hand on her cheek, and another on her back as he laid her down on his bed, both of them staring into each other's eyes.

"You are the most beautiful girl I've ever met, Susan Pevensie," he whispered, kissing her again, blissfully.


	6. Beyond the Sea

**A.N: I know i say this every time, but thank you for being so patient! This chapter has been the toughest to write so far, which will become evident why as you read on. I'm so appreciative of all the support, and am keen to hear what you think of the story so far! Thank you!**

 **Chapter Six**

 **Beyond the Sea - Bobby Darin**

May 8th, 1944

Ripon, North Yorkshire, U.K.

As always, the table felt incomplete.

Lucy sat at the dinner table, listening to everyone chatter on, hands in her lap. To her left, sat Edmund, enthralled by the current topic of conversation; war, and to her right sat their mother, who was visibly less enticed by any talk of the frontline, picking at her sandwiches with a thin-lipped frown. Across from Lucy sat Peter, their father next to him, leading the discussion, and Eustace the other side of Peter, listening wide-eyed. Professor Kirke headed the table, paying little attention to his guests, and more to the sandwiches he was piling down his throat.

There was one chair left, and the empty space seemed to weigh on all of their minds. It was symbolic; the empty seat at the table, the empty place in the family.

Looking away, before it became too obvious who she was thinking about, Lucy began to sip her tea, glancing up over the cup at Peter. He was clad in his mossy army uniform, though his hat was perched next to him on the table. The buttons were polished brightly, and the collar was neatly ironed; it was clear to see that Peter took pride in these clothes. It was no knight's armour or king's crown, but it was the closest thing he was going to get in this world.

"So tell me, Peter, when is it your company ships out? Heading to Normandy, I believe?" Professor Kirke queried, swallowing the last of the cucumber sandwiches. Lucy tried not to giggle at the small crumbs dancing around in his snowy white beard.

Tugging at his jacket, Peter sat up straighter, glad to be talking about his favourite subject once again - himself. "Well, Professor, officially I'm not at liberty to say - "

"June," Edmund piped up, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Peter shot him an irritated glare, brow furrowed. Shrugging, Edmund didn't seem too bothered. "You've been bragging to everyone else who'll listen, what's one more person knowing?"

"My, that's close," the Professor murmured, ignoring Peter and Edmund's bickering. "And I suppose your lovely sister will be joining you too? From what I hear, she's in the army as well. Bright girl, that one."

Everyone around the table shuffled uncomfortably, all besides the Professor who eyed the commotion curiously. Their mother suddenly turned a pale colour, folding her hands across her lap. Their father resorted to a stoic, stern expression, and Peter and Edmund looked down at their plates, scowling. Eustace began to busy himself with his fork, examining it perhaps a little too closely. Lucy was the only one who didn't look away, instead sighing.

"We haven't seen much of Susan, not since she became a nurse," she explained, softly. "She doesn't get much leave, you see, and - "

"And the leave she does get, she spends with that Yankee prat instead of us," Peter spat, bitterly.

Lucy felt her mother tense beside her, and reaches out to hold her hand under the table, as their father scolded Peter, though admittedly not as harshly as he could have. The Professor, sensing some hostility, took the hint and dropped all conversation of the eldest sibling. Instead, he turned to ask Edmund and Lucy after their schooling.

/

Professor Kirke found Lucy in the spare room, staring intently at the wardrobe. She is so enthralled by the large, wooden piece of furniture that he didn't catch her attention until he coughed, politely. Snapping her head round, she turned to look at the elderly man, beaming warmly, though with a hint of sadness, as though longing for something that could never be. Professor Kirke recognised that look - he had seen it many times reflected upon is own face.

The Professor couldn't help but be astounded how much Lucy had grown in the four years since he had last saw her. Her hair was certainly longer, held back by a beige Alice band, and she was tall too, only a few feet smaller than he was. She seemed sadder, however. The light that he had once seen burning brightly in her eyes was now dim, and her smile only appeared half-hearted.

"What I wouldn't give to go back," Lucy sighed, turning back to the wardrobe. "You know, I've spent both fifteen years in Narnia and here, in England. That's an bizarre thought, isn't? Sometimes I have to pinch myself."

Nodding in agreement, the Professor smiles, softly. "Bizarre indeed," he murmurs. "I'll always cherish my time in Narnia."

"I can't understand how anybody could forget such an incredible experience like that," Lucy points out, not needing to say Susan's name for the Professor to know who she meant immediately.

"You may find, Lucy, that Susan does not share your sentiment for Narnia. Wasn't there a man?"

"Yes, there was Caspian. But it doesn't make any sense. If she forgot Narnia because her love for Caspian drove her to, but she's now in love with somebody else, surely she could remember if she could recover from her heartbreak so quickly?"

Lucy had crossed her arms, her brow was creased, and her lower lip curled. The Professor repressed an urge to grin, thinking to himself that not all things had changed in their time apart.

"Perhaps it's not that simple," the Professor suggested. "We all cope in our own ways, dear Lucy. I think your sister is trying to find the best way for her."

Before Lucy could retort back, the Professor fumbled in his coat pocket, with a determined fervour. Lucy waited patiently, watching him keenly. The time it took him to retrieve the items from his pocket, Lucy wondered how deep it went, and whether it was a magic pocket, like ones she had witnessed in Narnia. Glittering gold rings were thrust under her nose, and Lucy gasped, entranced by the bands of amber. Each was identical to the other, with a small lion engraved in the metal, a lion so realistic Lucy could practically hear it roar.

"They're wonderful," she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away.

The Professor smiled warmly down at her, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "I'm glad you like them," he told her, pleased. "I've spent most of my life searching for a way back to Narnia, and now I think I've finally found a way."

Flitting her eyes between the Professor and the rings, Lucy could hardly believe her own ears. "These?" she asked, full of disbelief. "These are a way back?"

Nodding, the Professor took her hand and placed one in her palm. "Why don't you try one on for size?" he suggested, a twinkle in his eye. Without needing to be asked twice, Lucy slid one on, and found that it fit perfectly. The second the metal touched her skin, she felt a surge of hope, something she hadn't felt in a long time. "Do you like it?"

"Yes, very much," she replied, mesmerised.

"It's yours, if you'd like. In fact, there's one here for all your family members."

"Even Susan?" Lucy queried, doubtful.

"Even Susan," he answered, sincerely. "Although I should like to give one to her myself, if you don't mind. The rest you can take now, tell your parents their antiques or something. It's crucial you wear these at all times, especially now. You never know when they'll need to work."

Lucy held her hand up to scrutinise the ring further, the sunlight catching on the golden band. "Could it take me back now?"

The Professor shook his head. "No, dear Lucy. They only work when there's no other choice but to take you to Narnia."

Slowly Lucy brought her hand down, and clasped it with the other, suddenly sombre. "You mean . . . when I'm dying?"

"I'm afraid so."

"That could be decades away!" Lucy complained.

"Or it could be tomorrow. Would you rather wait, however long, for another wardrobe to come along and take you to Narnia, or would your rather be safe knowing that when you die, which I'm sorry to say could be any moment dear Lucy, you'll be taken straight there?" the Professor offered, placing an arm around her shoulder as he handed her the remaining rings - keeping one back of course. He lead her out of the spare room, and down the stairs where her family were putting on their coats and shoes, ready to leave.

Lucy joined them in putting on their coats, and pocketed the rings. She thanked the Professor for a lovely meal, and hugged him goodbye. The others followed suit, until all had been said, and it was time for Mrs Macready to take them back to the train station. The Professor waved them off from the doorway, the youngest Pevenise's words ringing in her ear. _I can't understand how anyone could forget such an incredible experience like that._ Indeed, it was difficult to comprehend.

Kings Cross Station, London, U.K.

After what felt like centuries, their parents finally drifted off, leaving Lucy free to fill in her siblings, and Eustace, on the Professor's gifts to them. She pulled them out eagerly, watching as their eyes lit up. All gathering close together, around the six gold bands, Lucy excitedly whispered as she told them what they meant.

Eustace, who since his trip to Narnia had changed wholeheartedly, allowing his imagination to stretch farther than he probably ever thought possible, took one immediately and slid it on. Holding his breath with anticipation, he looked around, half expecting the carriage doors to peel away and reveal a luscious green landscape, complete with castles, and fauns, and dragons. However, nothing did change, and his elated expression dropped. Peter and Edmund sat back, sceptical.

"It doesn't work right away," Lucy giggled, as Eustace frowned. "They only work when completely necessary."

Still suspicious, Peter and Edmund plucked a ring each from their sister's hand, and held it up to inspect it. Gasping, Peter looked back at Lucy. "There's a lion on them," he told her. The other two boys glanced wide-eyed at their own rings. They all knew what that meant - or at least, who it was depicting. "You say Professor Kirke gave you these?"

"Yes, earlier today," Lucy nodded. "He said that we're to wear them at all times, or else we might miss our opportunities to go home."

"Did he specify when 'necessary' was?" Edmund piped up, now wearing his.

A little reluctant, Lucy looked down at her lap. "Well, he said that the rings will ensure we get to go back to Narnia when our . . . our time is up."

The three boys glared incredulously at Lucy, mouths agape. "So, when we're dead?" Eustace piped up, causing their mother to stir slightly, though eventually drifted back off into deep slumber.

Shrugging, Lucy pursed her lips. "Um . . . well, yes," she finally replied. Watching as the other three sat back in a huff, all excitement gone, she tried to enthuse them further. "If you'd rather pin all your hopes on another wardrobe appearing out of nowhere, or a magical painting, then be my guest. I'm happy knowing that when my time comes, I'll get to go home."

Suddenly, they heard a scream echo throughout the carriages, waking Mr and Mrs Pevensie instantly. Another scream could be heard, followed by another. Soon, a whole chorus of shrieking and screaming was reverberating throughout the train. Lucy and Peter looked out the window, their hearts racing. The train was nearing the station - too fast. The breaks must have been stuck or something, for there was no sign of slowing. Steam was starting to fill the sky, and screams could be heard by the people on the platform as the train raced by, knocking people backwards who were stood too close to the yellow line.

People were running past their carriage in crowds, all rushing to push past one another. Mrs Pevensie held all the children close, trying to calm them despite her obvious panic. Mr Pevensie stood beside Lucy, holding her hand tightly. "It'll be alright," he promised, in a somewhat unsteady voice.

As if by a stroke of luck, seconds before the train collided with the solid, brick wall, Lucy instructed her parents to slip on the rings each, in a stern but certain voice that her parent's found little to argue with. Then, as the train crumpled up like a discarded can in a cloud of smoke and flames, the five Pevensie's and Eustace disappeared without a trace.

Finchley, London, U.K.

Never had Susan felt so nostalgic than she did sat in her childhood home for the first time in two years. Though considerably more mature, and more worldly and accomplished, she found that the familiarity of the walls and what lay within them were a comforting reminder of what she had missed in her time spent away.

So much had changed in such a short span of time, she thought to herself. Of course there was the obvious; her hair was longer, her skin tone had more of a colour to it, and her smile was brighter. She was a qualified nurse now, and had visited countries such as Italy, America, and France. Sat beside her was Johnny, holding her hand, a sparkling diamond ring glimmering off of one finger, whilst her other hand was placed to her belly, where their unborn son slumbered.

Despite how happy she felt with her new fiancé and their future child, Susan couldn't help the nerves that had built up gradually during their journey to Finchley, rise to the surface. What if Lucy and Edmund, who had yet to meet Johnny, didn't like him? What if her parent's thought it was all too fast? What if they all assumed the engagement was all because Susan was expecting? As though reading her mind, Johnny squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"There's nothing to worry about, Su," he told her, in his unbelievably endearing accent. His voice alone was enough to soothe her. "Your family only want you to be happy."

Smiling, Susan leant into his shoulder. "I only wonder if we should perhaps have gotten their permission before getting engaged. I mean, you didn't even ask my dad if it was alright."

Johnny gasped, teasingly. "Do my ears deceive me, or is Susan Pevensie asking for permission to do something?"

Chuckling, she hit him playfully on the knee. Lifting her head up to look into his eyes, Susan found it hard to concentrate on what she was trying to say. He had made quite the effort for the occasion, choosing to wear a light blue, long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of dark brown trousers. His hair was uncharacteristically neat, raven black, and his eyes sparkled. However his grin was still mischievous - that much he couldn't change. Susan had tried her best too, dressing in a red and white floral tea dress, and a pair of white heels.

"I'm serious, Johnny," she sighed, biting her lip. "I'm afraid they'll think we're only getting married because of the baby."

Reaching out to touch her face, Susan found Johnny's touch rather alleviating. "We're marrying each other because we're in love, and our baby is just a delightful, yet surprising, bonus. They'll see that, Su. They'll see that we love each other more than anything, and that we'd be getting married whether you were pregnant or not."

"But I haven't seen them in so long, it'll be a shock - "

"And once they get over the initial surprise, they'll be thrilled about the baby. I promise you," he pointed out, and kissed her as though to further convince her.

Suddenly, a doorbell rang, breaking them apart. Susan shot up, smoothing down her dress, and tucking her hair behind her ear. She then rushed to the door, as Johnny stood up. Susan suspected the nerves had hit him, suddenly, too. Swinging the door open, Susan found not her family, but instead was face-to-face with a policeman.

"Oh, can I help you?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"Is this the residence of Mr Gordon Pevensie, Mrs Helen Pevensie, and their four children?" he asked, in a sombre tone that did not bode well.

"Yes, I'm their daughter, Susan Pevensie," she told him. An uneasy feeling had started to swirl in her stomach, not helped by the fact she was two months into her pregnancy. "Has something happened?"

The policemen then took his hat off, and held it to his chest. "I'm so sorry. There was an accident, earlier today. A train collided with the station, there weren't many survivors. Gordon and Helen Pevensie, their children Peter, Edmund and Lucy, and cousin Eustace Scrubb were all aboard, and unaccounted for among the bodies. We believe them to have perished in the crash."

Susan could barely believe what he was telling her. Her knuckles had turned white from gripping the door so hard, and her knees buckled. She would have fell, if Johnny hadn't caught her in time. He held her close to his chest as she sobbed, screaming almost. Her parents. Her brothers. Her sisters. Her cousin. All of them, gone just like that. No goodbye, no warning.

 _Nobody to ask permission from now_ , she thought bitterly, as the tears flooded the floor beneath her. _Nobody to ask anything from. Nobody save for Johnny._


End file.
